


Won't Live Forever

by str4yk1tt3n



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 03:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/str4yk1tt3n/pseuds/str4yk1tt3n
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love, angst and time travel. Parachute pants and an unlikely super hero. What happens in between and what could have happened and decisions made when all others seem impossible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**   
**

Rose stared bleakly out the window in her room at the eons of space encompassing the tiny TARDIS, at the blackness and galaxies between them and the ghost ship, and wiped absently at a now-dry cheek. Oh, there had been tears, lakes and rivers, more moisture than she would have thought her body could contain had poured out of her, wracking sobs that had been interspersed with hot, tearing rage. For hours after bidding a tight, unheard good-night to Mickey and The Doctor as they sat discussing the finer points of football and phasers (she doubted they'd even noticed her absence), and locking herself in her room, she had stomped and punched her pillow and the wall, collapsed on her bed, rocking in wordless grief, whimpering and shrieking with her pain…but one little girl's body can only hold so much emotion before the control tower sends the message for automatic shutdown.

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there, watching nebulas burn, exhausted and aching. Whatever had torn through her was gone. It had left its mark on her damp pillow, and the glittering shards of crystal on the floor, but even when her eyes fell upon the shining shattered remains of the first present he had ever given her, she could feel no more than the echo of emotion. She looked down and noticed dispassionately that a few pieces had buried themselves in her bare feet, and tried half-heartedly to pick them out with her fingernails.

 _Really need some tweezers for this_ , she thought as one of the blood-slippery shards eluded her grasp yet again. She glanced across the room to the toiletries bag on her bed, taking in the rumpled blankets and angrily toppled belongings on the way.  _Really need to straighten up this mess…_

Her eyes wandered back to the glowing vista outside, and she leaned her head against the glass, too drained to block him from her mind, the walls and barriers she had been building inside herself just so much rubble for right now.

She had been fascinated with him from the moment he had grasped her hand that night in the basement of the store. With that one touch he had changed her world, changed  _her,_  from Rose Tyler, shop girl, sure to marry Mickey, or some other nice, safe boy who liked football and picnics, raise a few children and worry about a mortgage, perhaps vacation in the country from time to time, maybe do a tour of places she wanted to see some day when she was too old to want to see them anymore—that had been all she had wanted, or at least all she could expect.

But without knowing it, with one touch, four fingers and a thumb, a perfect set of bones and vessels and skin wrapped tight around her wrist, he had changed her irrevocably, from her cells, out. She had never known she was asleep until he had woken her with a single word. She felt like she could run forever as long as his hand was grasping hers.

She didn't know when it had become something more for her—she clearly recalled the shock she felt when the first insinuating queries about the actual nature of their relationship had been voiced—he was old enough to be…her father, or her professor at least, and it was simply  _not_  that kind of relationship. But somewhere in between running for her life and…running for her life…her denial that they were any more intimately involved began to loose its ring of truth to her. Although strictly speaking, it had still been as true as it had been on the day she met him, at some point she found that she had begun watching him as he ran around the control panel with more than amusement at his antics, her gaze lingering on the fall of light across his cheekbones and his deft fingers as they wiggled the right toggle at just the right moment. His manic grin filled her with effervescent bubbles down to her fingertips and toes, and his hand, clasping hers made her heart race. Luckily, they had usually been running for their lives…again…when their fingers twined, so she never had a need to explain away the sudden color in her cheeks or extra brightness in her eyes.

For a while, she had been embarrassed by what she was sure he would see as a schoolgirl infatuation for the older man in charge. When she thought she saw something else there, when she had brought Adam along on the TARDIS, when she danced and flirted with Captain Jack, she squished down her immature hope and accepted that there was no smothered longing deep in his soulful eyes, just exhaustion from their battles, from his own battles; no quickly dampened jealousy, just a long-standing irritation with the silly lives of humans. If he held her hand a little too long, or touched her shoulder in passing, she had berated herself for her decidedly impure thoughts, sure that he was merely comfortable around her and considered himself just a friend, mentor or even (eww) father figure.

However, by the time he sent her away from Satellite 5, she had already begun to wonder if he might not care for her on a deeper level. Once or twice she had glanced up from whatever she was doing to ask him a question and their gazes had collided, whatever she had been about to say irrevocably lost under the intense pull of his smoky eyes. One time she had been sure that he was about to reach for her, she had willed him with all of her might to pull him to her and…then Jack had stepped through the door and The Doctor had rushed off to fix a short in the master panel on corridor five that was making the lights blink of anytime anyone walked past.

When he had sent her home, she knew. She knew he felt it too, and realized, suddenly that everything that she had explained away as simple companiate caring, every glance, every touch, every almost—he had felt it too. And she refused,  _refused_  to let him die, to leave her alone without him.

Of course, she had lost that one in the end. But, even though her recollection of anything after ripping open the inside of the ship was less than solid, that one tender, soul scorching kiss was indelibly implanted in her memory. It had pushed aside all of the lingering insecurities, the ones she thought had been assuaged, and said more clearly than if he had spoken aloud that he loved her. It had been filled with pain and the fear of loosing her and such passionate gentleness, as if he had been afraid she would break. She swiped at her cheek again, vaguely surprised to discover that she did have tears left, after all.

He may have died…but he got better.

He was alive, and the world was safe. That should be all that mattered, right?

Maybe she was just being selfish. Maybe she had been deluded after all. He had kissed her to save her life. Even though it seemed like there should have been some equally effective way to draw the energy out of her, perhaps that was the only choice. Maybe she was just another annoying ape after all.

Because she kept waiting, and… she drew a shaky breath over the pain that announced that she wasn't entirely numb.

After they had gotten back…well…on Christmas, things had just been an awful mess, of course, with his regeneration going wrong and her feeling so confused in the face of…well, his new face, and someone  _else_  trying to take over the planet  _again_ … There just hadn't been  _time_  to reflect on their feelings for each other…and then, well, it was rather difficult to spend quality time together when some psychotic bitch has taken over your body and starts groping the love of your very existence. She had been optimistic when they were hijacked by Queen Victoria…but getting dragged away and used as wolf bait had taken up a lot of time.

Up to that point, there had always been some interference, some excuse, some way she could justify his inattention. She kept telling herself that he was acclimating, that he was busy, that as soon as they got some downtime she would be wrapped in his arms and smothered with kisses.

But they'd had time, and it hadn't happened.

It seemed like, after the most passionate moment in her life, she had been sent on an express shuttle back to the Friend Zone. He was manic and caviler apparently wild about humans this time around, full of life and energy, and seemingly void of any emotional attachment to her beyond her amazing humanness. She hadn't once caught him looking at her soulfully, or felt his fingertips linger on her hair or the small of her back as he passed.

She had been studiously building walls and mountains to hide each shattered hope. Meeting Sarah-Jane had been…quite a…revelation…having one of his former companions explain in no uncertain terms that as soon as she started to fade, she'd be dumped off at home and never see him again, until he stumbled across her years down the line with some perky new girl on his arm…Sarah-Jane said that the heartbreak was worth the experience, but Rose wasn't sure her pride could handle it, following him around like a puppy and begging for scraps of recognition until he decided she was past her sell-by date…but then she contemplated leaving, telling him it had been fun and she had a life to get back to, walking away with her chin high and never seeing him again…and she realized that where he was concerned, she didn't even know the meaning of the word 'pride'. Every cell in her body had screamed at the thought of being parted from him, and insisted that each and every one of them would die if they were away from him. And she didn't try to delude herself that he would have come after her. Maybe once. Maybe the man who had asked with a wide grin if she wanted to see the universe, and had refused to take no for an answer, the man who had taken on time itself for her. But not any more…any more he would ask if she was sure, with a quirked eyebrow, then nod and say that he understood and take off in search of some other fascinating human specimen to drag around the galaxy, the outline of the TARDIS fading before she even had the chance to answer.

 _Not that he hadn't found another human to drag around_ , she thought darkly.  _Nothing tells a girl that you're not interested in a relationship like bringing her sort-of ex-boyfriend along._

Mickey thought  _he_  was the tin dog?

But she'd been dealing, just enjoying the warmth of his presence, even if that brilliance was no longer just for her, hiding the pain inside behind bright smiles and dumb jokes. And by taking on challenges with an almost reckless abandon, dancing on the precipice—childishly hoping to see something other than adventurous glee in his eyes like, oh maybe a smidge of concern for her safety?

But the past few days had shown her the truth, once and for all.

When the TARDIS had landed on the deserted ship, she had just been glad to be somewhere, with something to concentrate on other than her shattered dreams and Mickey's determined presence. The enigma of the little girl they had glimpsed through the flames held merely the promise of an exciting new adventure that she could share with her Doctor, and bask shamelessly in the glow of his brilliance and exuberance. But she hadn't expected the little girl to grow up—and as a famous hooker of all things! All right, technically a royal mistress, but nevertheless….

When The Doctor had returned from another visit and gleefully informed them that he had just snogged Madame Pompadour, she had been seized by the all-too-female impulse to step calmly through the flames and claw the woman's eyes out, or perhaps just switch sides for one little adventure. But she had tamped down the ungracious thoughts and kept herself from crying, smiled bravely and asked about their plan of action as usual.

It had been a little more difficult for her to smile when she and Mickey had been strapped down by repair-bots and about to be used for spare parts, and the doctor capered into the room utterly pissed and belting out My Fair Lady songs. Especially when he dredged up the direst insult in his repertoire and compared her to her mother. She'd been more than a little upset. He hadn't even shown the least bit of concern for the fact that she was about to die—no, he'd been too busy re-writing history via banana daiquiri.

But he had come for her. At least he'd come, like he always said he would.

But tonight.

Tonight had just been…

He'd  _left_  her.

He'd jumped that stupid horse through that bloody mirror, knowing bloody well that once he did it, the way would be closed. He and the TARDIS would be on opposite sides of the galaxy, and centuries—no _, millennia_ —apart. He had stranded her and Mickey on an abandoned space ship light years from ANYTHING, with no crew, no food, no way to ever go home.

It had been the most frightening five-and-a-half hours of her life (she'd counted every second), knowing that she was going to die there, just her and Mickey, alone…within days, weeks…years even, depending on how long the TARDIS kept power…but she didn't think it would be that long.

When he'd returned for her, she'd been so relieved that she almost finally broke down and cried. He'd come back for her, just like he always said he would— _he must have known all along that there would be a way back_ , she had tried to convince herself. Before she could even get two sentences out of him, however he was running back to that infernal fireplace, shouting for the well-endowed blonde courtesan on the other side. Of course, he'd been a scosh too late, but that really didn't make Rose feel any better. She didn't really have anything against the beautiful, cultured, experienced, slutty…ok…maybe she had a little against the woman, but she couldn't fault her for liking The Doctor. She had even tried her hardest to help her. Infatuation with The Doctor was understandable, from Rose's point of view. He, on the other hand, had likely never even mentioned her name on his French holiday. He'd been too busy drinking banana-flavored cocktails and playing court to French women and forgetting all about the people who would be stranded and die without him. He hadn't even cared as much about her as the strangers he saved once a week.

He had returned from his final jaunt to see Rennet subdued and obviously hurting. She had tried. No recriminations, no 'why did you leave me here to die?'…she knew that he had a difficult time dealing with human life-spans…she had offered comfort, and he had just looked at her as if to say, 'Oh, you again? Silly little girl, there is no way you could understand the pain of me loosing my girlfriend of two days or so, so please don't bother me, unimportant one.'

Mickey had proved himself to be not quite an idiot for once by taking Rose's hand and leading her out of the room before she had the chance to fully loose her dignity. (Of course, The Doctor had been to preoccupied to notice.) He had her lead him around the ship for hours, keeping her mind busy and even coaxed out a few smiles. Finally, he had begged starvation and set off for the kitchen. After spending another hour in the library brooding and re-building some of her emotional defenses, telling herself some more lies, she decided that she should probably eat too, even if she wasn't very hungry—after all, who knew if they'd be prisoners on a Burmese warship tomorrow?

As she had neared the kitchen, she heard voices coming from within and paused to listen, only to hear Mickey explaining the finer points of football to The Doctor. She hung around outside the doorway for a minute or two longer, as the apparently forgiven, if somewhat subdued-sounding Time Lord started talking physics. Whether it was the smell of eggs and sausage or just the idea of being in the same room with him, Rose's stomach had violently contested her choice. She had whispered 'Good-night' to their oblivious backs before turning and walking away down the corridor. She almost had the knots worked out when she reached her room, but once she was inside, leaning against the locked door, she just hadn't been able to stop it. Somehow, Mickey's defection had tipped the scales. He had been abandoned too, but no matter—Boy's Club and all—talk about laser guns and football and all is forgiven. Rose had never felt so alone.

She gazed out the window, a few tardy tears following their brethren, trickling down her cheeks, unnoticed. She glanced back at the room. She should really clean up her mess. The only thing that could possibly make her feel worse than she already did would be the condescending looks she'd get if …someone… walked in on the aftermath of her tantrum.

Merely the thought of getting up was exhausting. And it wasn't like the only person on the ship who could open a locked door in a trice had any reason to. She'd do it in a minute…she returned her gaze to the window. She just wanted to rest a little longer…

… _Just a few more minutes…just as soon as she could muster the energy…_


	2. Chapter 2

**  
**

She stood before him, an avenging goddess, glowing with holy fire. He found himself simultaneously terrified  _for_  her and  _of_  her, trembling under the touch of her power.

Oh, and yes, of course, loving her, worshiping her, as is a goddess's due.

But it wasn't as though that were a new experience. His beautiful angel, all joy and temptation, who brought laughter and light to the dismal corridors of his ship, of his life. Who turned his smiles less bitter, more genuine, who reminded him that not only did life go on after pain, but that it could be truly, completely fantastic.

Who was full of so much life and curiosity and more courage than he could have thought possible. So much courage.

She stumbled under the weight of the energy tearing through her human body—energy that not even he would have been able to withstand—and he was at her side instantly, no longer awed by her power, concerned only with how much of her beautiful life force had already been swept away into the vortex. As he caught her in his arms, he reached for that frail thread in despair…and did the only thing that he could.

He kissed her.

After all, she'd been so brave…he couldn't exactly back down from the challenge—what kind of man would that make him? None—that's what kind, because without her, well…he couldn't even see himself existing without her. And sure, it would hurt a bit, but to tell the truth, he would have gladly laid down all of his lives for her—what was just one of them to that?

He prepared himself for the wave of burning energy, but when it came, he didn't even notice—once his lips touched hers he knew nothing but soft skin and the taste of tears and life and the pounding in his chest. The desire to crush her to him and claim her and dare anything in the world to ever threaten her again warred with his fear that the slightest touch would bruise and break her, and both were overridden by the driving need to carry her off into the farthest reaches of the vastness of space and hold her naked in his arms and love her for hours, days, and teach her things about her body that she would never have imagined.

Nice thought. Too bad he was about to die.

He tried instead to put all that into his kiss, all the passion, all the yearning communicated through the gentle press of his mouth on hers, and savor the sweet, innocent taste of her lips, write their flavor, their softness, their texture, the silk of her hair under his fingers, indelibly into his memory, every moment…every—

The Doctor jolted awake, heart pounding. For a moment, his mind stuttered and he reached out for Rose. When his hands touched only empty air, he came fully awake and dropped back on his pillow with a groan. Sighing, he pushed shaking fingers through his tousled hair, then sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He knew from experience that the thought of getting back to sleep now was laughable. He could try, lay back down and close his eyes—but he wouldn't lay still, with his muscles twisted in knots aching for her touch, and his closed eyes would only become cinema screens projecting her every laugh, every look… He would sit up after hours of tossing, tangled in blankets, trying to remember why it would be so bad to pad down the dim corridors, seek her out, take her hand, lead her back to his empty room.

He knew by the glances and gazes that she tried to hide that she'd come with him. She tried to pretend that she didn't care, and he let her believe her walls were high and strong. Perhaps they were by human standards. Or by the standards of someone less of a master emotional mason than him. He could see over, through, and around them. He could knock them over with a feather. He knew that if he walked up behind her, sleep disheveled and shirtless while she sat reading in the library with a cup of tea and held out his hand, he'd be wrapped in her arms, tasting her lips again within seconds.

His breathing quickened at the thought.

It would almost be worth it, holding her warm body in his arms, feeling her wrapped around him as he drifted off to sleep…almost worth the inevitable pain of loosing her…just to have her for now.

But he had to think about more than now. In his last incarnation, 'now' had been his primary focus. He'd still been so raw and bleeding inside after…everything. He'd been so weak. He knew he had come across as stoic and curt, but his emotions had seethed just under the surface, there for anyone who took the time to look. Like she had. So warm and sweet and compassionate, there for him with a cup of tea in the library, gentle teasing and a bump of her hip when she saw him getting too morose, or sometimes, just a spontaneous hug, or her small hand creeping into his.

He had tried, he really had…but every day he had found himself treading a thinner line, touching her shoulder as he passed her in the console room, forgetting to look away when she glanced up and found him watching her, making jealous snipes about the pretty boys she brought on board…and then …that one time…if Jack hadn't walked in, well…

Of course, he'd ended up kissing her in the end anyway.

Well, he was certainly paying for it now. Just knowing that she was so close, but so untouchable…

He shoved up off the bed and began to stalk a trail between his bed and the door, hands further mussing his hair as he paced, cotton pajama pants fluttering around his ankles.

He was stronger this time. He had to be stronger this time. Strong enough to build a few walls and fortresses of his own, that she had no chance of tearing down, strong enough to play at 'just friends' with manic glee, strong enough to resist the temptation in her full pouting lips and flirtatious glances. He had to be. Because he knew that if he wasn't, he'd have no chance. He'd fall in love with her—

 _Bit late for that, don't you think_ , his mind taunted.

—and then she'd die, and it would seem barely more than a few heartbeats for him, but she would be gone forever. And to be fair, it would probably be sooner rather than later. They could go on vacation and end up in mortal danger. Happened twice last week, matter of fact.

What he should have really been doing was setting an earth course for the TARDIS, depositing her in her bed at home, fast asleep, and disappearing before her eyelashes fluttered open. Wasn't that what he did?

But somehow, this time…he just…couldn't. He couldn't drop her off and step gracefully out of her life. He couldn't take her home to the promise of a safe job and friends and going out for chips and a pint and meeting a nice man who would marry her and give her safe, happy babies and picnics on the weekend. He'd reached for the right knobs and switches a dozen times at least, but each time his hands had clenched as his chest had tightened in pain at the thought of never seeing his sweet Rose anymore, of not feeling her hand wrapped in his as they ran from yet another deadly enemy. Or someone he had happened to irritate a bit too much. Not seeing that wicked little smile she'd flash him that taxed his every reserve of self-control, making him want nothing more than to crush her against the nearest wall and ravage her thoroughly.

He couldn't…unless she asked him to. She deserved better than a life of constant danger. She deserved a  _life_ —as in something more than them maybe not being clever enough soon enough next time around. He knew that if he kept pushing her buttons and pushing her away, one day she'd get fed up and tell him that she wanted to go home. Right after telling him where he could stick his friendship. As much as he hated the thought, the thought of her in the constant danger she faced because of him was worse, and mostly, he wanted her to be safe and happy. The catch-22, of course, was that, as much as he hated the thought, passive-aggressively was the only way he could get himself to send her away.

And it didn't help that any time he saw pain in her eyes, all he wanted to do was find a way to make it go away…and when he was causing it, well, he couldn't think of any punishment bad enough for what he'd like to do to the likes of him. He wanted to soothe her with kisses and words of devotion. Tell her how sorry he was for every slight, every time he brushed off her sweet words.

But the universe seemed bound and determined to keep him on a steady course. Seeing Sara Jane…so full of life and fighting the good fight and all. She said she missed the adventure, but he could see in her eyes that she was doing what she loved. And he knows that Rose wouldn't stay alone like Sara Jane did—not with her passion and energy. She would be hurt for a while, but she would bloom back into life like a flower in spring, and have all the things that a pretty young girl should. Things that did not include running for her life.

But that blast from the past had been nothing compared to last few days. The last few days had been a big smack in the face from the king of Reality Check Land. If he hadn't known better, he might have seriously wondered if Jackie Tyler was in charge of running the universe.

Meeting Rennet had been well…

He knew that Freud and Jung would probably put their differences aside and give him a serious talking to if they had the chance. Matter of fact, he could stop by and ask them…nahh. He doubted he needed a doctorate in Psychology to guess what had been simmering in his subconscious over the past day or two.

He couldn't have the gorgeous angel who danced through the halls of his ship, and laughed gleefully as they hung from a rocky precipice surrounded by 50 Grotlacks.

When the lovely French woman with her sweet curves and blonde hair had asked him to protect her, full of strength and courage and passion and cleverness, when she had looked at him with a promise in her eyes, kissed him senseless…

He just happened to sell him self on the illusion a little _too_  well. In the end, of course, he made a bloody mess of things, but well…that was a bit of his specialty after all.

 _Of course_  he knew what would happen when he broke the mirror. It was simple physics. Well…alright, advanced physics, but... it wasn't like he didn't know he'd be stuck. So what if he had felt like there was something else he needed to consider, some aspect that he was forgetting to add into his calculations…but well, saving the day—that was what he did! (Aside from making a mess of things, of course) And time was rather short, all things considered. It wasn't until after he'd landed the horse and dealt with the repair droids that the annoying tickle in the back of his mind was able to get his attention. Luckily, 900 plus years of life teaches you to control your emotions to some extent. Which was very helpful in that he did not curl up on the floor and cry. Nor did he beat his fists bloody against the closed portal. And he knew that Rennet would have forgiven him if, on lonely nights he had retired to the balcony and gazed across the vastness of space. Of course, he probably wouldn't have had such a crush on her if she hadn't been the way she was—strong, brave, passionate, and a truly good person who couldn't see someone in pain and not help if it was in her power. Oh right, and blond, with lovely brown eyes and soft curves and about a certain height…

After she showed him the way back, he felt that showing her the stars was really the least he could do, considering that he couldn't offer her what she had hoped for. He would have thought he had enough hearts to go around, but apparently someone had already selfishly laid claim to both of them.

In the minute it took to get back to her, she was already gone.

It was like some huge cosmic joke, and it was on him, and he wasn't laughing. It wasn't as though he needed a reminder that beautiful golden haired earth-girls died far too soon. Someone must have thought differently though—or just thought it would be fun to give him a little stop-motion self-fulfilling prophesy to brighten his day.

When he got back to the ship, he could hardly look at Rose without seeing the vibrant glow of her life slipping infinitesimally away, second by second, minute by minute. It made it hard to breathe. It made him want to drag her off to some part of the universe where time couldn't touch her. It made him want to do something horribly, criminally stupid, like throw himself at her feet and tell her how much he loved her, then perhaps, for good measure, throw her over his shoulder, carry her off to his room, and show her.

Thankfully, Mickey had stepped in just then, shot him a look and taken Rose off for a tour of the TARDIS or something.

It had definitely been a good idea, bringing him along.

The doctor sank back down on the edge of his bed, eying the pillows wistfully. He didn't need a lot of sleep, but in his 'really really long days' book, this one was certainly trying to get into the first chapter. He sighed deeply, then stood up and pulled on his clothes before slipping out into the corridor and walking a path he knew all too well.

When he got to her door, he rested his head gently against the metal and reached a tendril of his mind into the room beyond. With a light brush against her thoughts, he sensed her slumber. For a minute, he just stood there, feeling her presence on the other side of the door. Then he quietly let himself inside.

She didn't know he watched her when she was sleeping. He didn't come into her room every night but, sometimes he just wanted to make sure she was okay.

 _Liar._  His mind accused.

He rubbed the back of his neck wearily, walking towards the bed with its soft burgundy throw. The truth was…well…she was soothing. Sometimes, if he could just touch her for a moment, let his fingers linger on the softness of her skin, even just be in the same room with her for a few minutes, he was able to fall asleep when he returned to his own room.

 _It's not like I want to come here,_  he though irritably.  _She's just so…sometimes I just need to see—_

His inner discourse cut off abruptly as he caught site of her, not cozily in her in bed where visions of sugarplums would know where to find her, but curled up in the window seat, slumped against the glass, hair mussed, still in the rumpled clothing of the day past. He drew nearer, and guilt twinged through him as he took in her pink cheeks and nose, and the remnants of make-up streaking her cheeks. He stepped quietly across the room and sank down beside her.

"Oh Rose," he whispered, brushing her flushed cheek with his fingertips. Standing, he stuffed his hands in his pockets to resist for the umpteenth time that day, the hundredth time that week, the urge to gather her in his arms to soothe her hurts. He wanted to wake her with a kiss, see her sweet smile, wipe all evidence of her tears from her skin and her heart…but that might make it a tad more difficult to keep up the whole 'you're my good platonic buddy Rose' campaign, just a bit.

Despite himself, he reached out and brushed a tangle of damp curls off of her forehead, then smiled as it fell right back into the same spot. His Rose. Stubborn even in sleep. He brushed gently over her mind again to make sure she was still sleeping deeply, then turned back towards the gentle orange glow of the hallway.

He took a step, then paused as something crunched under his foot. He squatted down to get a closer look, and in the dim light it took a moment for his eyes to make sense of the sparkling debris. He lifted a shard in his hand and examined the slight curvature and the frosting on the glass, then, recognizing a soft swirl of detail, sorrow washed through him and the piece of glass fell back to the carpet.

He'd been walking down the crowded street, watching Rose absorb the humanity around her after witnessing the demoralizing destruction of her planet, when a splash of light in a shop window had caught his eye. Leaving Rose examining some gaudy earrings a street vendor was selling, he'd slipped back to examine the misty crystal sphere. In the end, he'd paid at least twice what he suspected the original asking price had been (probably shouldn't have started off his bargaining with 'I want that, whatever it costs.'), but later, seeing the glow in her eyes after she found the palm-sized glass globe of Classic Earth, circa 21st century, where he'd left it on her pillow…he knew he would have given the store proprietor anything he had to see her smile like that.

Raising his eyes from the scatter of broken glass, he took in the books tumbled in the corner under an upended wooden jewelry box, chains and bracelets dangling out like glimmering entrails. A picture hung askew. On the floor below it, a pillow slumped unceremoniously against the wall, a red thumbtack resting in one of its wrinkles.

He looked back down at the shattered globe and self-reproach churned in his stomach. He wanted to stalk over to the sweet girl in the window seat and shake her, yell at her that he wasn't worth her misery, that she was stronger than this…he wanted to…his eyes wandered back to Rose, and dallied over her long lashes, her pert nose, her ridiculously full lips, traveled down the bare arm wrapped around her long, denim clad legs, over the bare toes peaking innocently out from the hem of her pants…he sighed. He could make lists of things he wanted to do where she was concerned.

Standing, he turned to leave, but the grating of glass under his foot brought him up short again. He glanced back at her bare toes.

 _If she asks, I can just tell her that sometimes the TARDIS takes care of these things_ , he rationalized as he began painstakingly removing tiny pieces of broken globe from the floor.

 _Uh-huh_ , responded his mind.

 _Not like I can just leave them here—she's barefoot._ Frowning, he glanced back at her toes. He dumped the glass into a pocket and stood up. He hesitated, then walked over to her, slipping into her mind and sending her soothing, sleepy thoughts. He knelt beside her and reached gently for her foot, tensing when she flinched away. He leaned closer, and even in the dim light he was able to discern the red smear on the edge of her heel.

 _Well, at least I get to do something that I want to tonight_ , he thought wryly as he lifted her into his arms. His entire body rejoiced at the feel of her cradled against him, her head resting against his shoulder, and he shivered as her warm breath whispered over his neck.

Concentrating on keeping her asleep with his thoughts, and not waking her up by making noise or tripping over anything, he turned down the corridor and was half-way back to his room before he realized where he was headed. He stopped and slumped against the wall.

He raised an eyebrow in thought. He  _did_  have some medical supplies in his quarters. Certainly all he would need to remove a few pieces of glass. And they  _were_ already halfway there. They didn't  _have_  to go to medical.

He glanced down at the sleeping girl in his arms. She'd had a hard day too—it wouldn't do to be dragging her all over the ship for something he could take care of that much sooner...he inhaled the light scent of her skin, and his eyes fell to her soft lips, half-parted in sleep…she murmured through her dreams and cuddled in closer to him, her arms coming up to drape loosely around his neck. He closed his eyes and nuzzled against the soft skin lightly, pressing a faint kiss into the bend of her elbow. He groaned quietly as her fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his neck, and her nails grazed his scalp. He leaned his head down towards hers—

He blinked and shook himself mentally, jerking his head back up. He stepped away from the wall and headed back the way he had come.  _Definitely_ going to medical. Cold, sterile environment should be the right speed just about now.

_Right, take her to medical, tend to her wounds, then take her back to my room._

Her _room._

 _Right_.

He managed to get through the next hour without any grievous mishaps, which he was quite proud of himself for, considering that he had his dream-girl in his arms and she wouldn't bloody stop playing with his hair. But he did not say 'bugger all, I'm taking her to my room and after I make her all better, I'm going to shag her silly.' Nor did he kiss her awake on the exam table in medical, or even 'accidentally' let his control slip, just a little, and let her wake up on her own as he looked longingly into her eyes, then profess undying love. He did take her back to her own room, and did not stay with her, 'just to make sure she was all right'.

But he couldn't be faulted for tucking her into bed, rather than leaving her on the window seat where he had found her. That simply couldn't be a comfortable way to sleep.

And when he leaned down and brushed a kiss across her sleeping lips…that he just chalked up to exhaustion.

And when he paused in the doorway, looked back at her tangle of blonde curls and whispered, too soft for her to hear, " _Good night my love_."…well, all things considered, one little slip should really be excused in light of all the things he  _didn't_ do wrong. It really should.

He let his eyelids drop shut and leaned his forehead against her closed door for just a moment, feeling her mind sleeping on the other side. Then he turned and wandered back down the passageways to his lonely room.


	3. Chapter 3

**  
**

Rose fumed as she stormed down the strange-yet-familiar street.

Things had been better for the past few days. Not perfect—she was still sleeping in her own room, after all, she reflected, brows drawing together in irritation—but there had been a restored level of closeness and camaraderie between her and The Doctor (which seemed to annoy Mickey to no end, as he was entirely unable to contribute to their reminiscing and inside jokes).

After that one terrible night on the ghost ship, she had been expecting to wake up stuffy, miserable and more than a little resentful, but much to her surprise, that hadn't been the case. Her room had still been in a bit of disarray when she opened her eyes…which is one way of saying that it looked roughly like it had been in the path of a particularly dedicated tornado (or a very angry teen-aged girl, which is so much the same thing that they are both listed under the same universal warning code), but at some point in the night, it seemed that she had woken up enough to get herself to bed, along with apparently having had the foresight to clean up the worst of the broken glass on her floor, the result of which being that slept comfortably and didn't step on a pile of pointy things when she got up.

Furthermore, the pointy things that her feet had already encountered were conspicuously absent. She had been wondering for a while if she was recovering more quickly from injury than she had been prior meeting Jack's Tulah nano-genes—this certainly seemed to confirm her theory that The Doctor had missed a couple.

So all in all, her day started in a much better place than she would have anticipated.

What had taken a few minutes to reconcile, however, was the overall feeling of peace and wellbeing she felt, cuddled under her fluffy comforter. It tingled through her veins like the remnants of a wonderful dream, but it didn't fade away as her haze of sleep thinned. She had waited tensely for painful reality to trample her contentment. When her good mood had continued to linger, she had prodded memories of the night before, of how alone and afraid she had been, hesitantly at first, and then with more commitment, dredging up the anger and tears, the sight of The Doctor disappearing, theoretically forever, through the mirror to be someone else's hero.

She had been mildly puzzled. It wasn't as though she had forgotten the events that had turned her into a sobbing wreck. She had still been angry with The Doctor on an intellectual level, but…well, he saved people. If he didn't do that, he wouldn't be The Doctor. He couldn't exactly have left that poor girl to her fate, and let historical timelines be skewed out of alignment. Rose had signed on as TARDIS crew, and that meant that she accepted the danger, the risks, the uncertainty. The moment she had made the choice to step through the doors of the waiting blue box, she had made the choice to become rescu _er_ , rather than rescue-ee. She knew that. Sometimes, well…one could loose perspective from time to time—that was all. Especially if one was slightly less than two decades old and trying to deal with tempestuous emotions and lustful longings for a Time Lord who was slightly less than one millennium old, especially one who acted like a hyperactive child half the time and had that adorably rumpled hair and lovely brown eyes and….and it  _had_ been a rather irresponsible choice on HIS behalf. But, well…his plans were occasionally not as thoroughly thought through as they could have been.

Shaking her head in bemusement, she had thrown back the comforter and swung her legs over the side of the bed. It seemed that her Mum's thoughts on a girl sometimes needing to have a good cry, and also on things often looking brighter in the morning had some merit after all.

So, after a much needed shower, she had donned her favorite jeans and a cozy sweater, and wandered into the kitchen with a spring in her step. She had rejoiced at the sight of fluffy pancakes and had joked with Mickey as they created silly faces with the components of their breakfasts. She had glanced up in the middle of a laughing fit induced by Mickey's pancake version of their old Headmaster to see The Doctor leaning against the doorway. She had flashed him a bright smile and gestured for him to come join them, and shortly thereafter, he had the two Londoners in stitches with his abysmal attempts at breakfast art.

He had looked at her a handful of times during that day as if he wanted to say something, but each time he had ended up wandering off purposefully (only  _he_  could wander with purpose) to fiddle with some wiring or check on the ship's readings. Rose breathed a sigh of relief each time he decided against a heart-to-heart—despite her acceptance of his role in the universe and the fact that she mostly didn't want to hit him anymore, if he tried to talk to her about Rennet, she wasn't entirely sure she could be held accountable for what came out of her mouth. Especially if he had sat her down and tried to explain in small words that saving other people and preserving the timeline was his job and that he knew her short-sighted species had a difficult time understanding long term consequences—no, she was definitely happier that they just left it where it was.

But aside from that few hours of minor awkwardness, life on the TARDIS the past few days had been great—it had even transcended into spectacular recently, on a blissful night of movie watching that Mickey had bowed out of early on, due to a lack of modern guns or sports featuring prominently in the plot. She and The Doctor had curled up in pajamas on the fluffy sofa and made a valiant effort at watching the entire extended Lord of the Rings saga in one go. They had bantered playfully over the merits of various characters and the true nature of Sam and Frodo's relationship. They had a popcorn fight when he teased her about the fan-girl-esque squeals she released when Aragon came into the picture, and asked why Legolas didn't get the same treatment, since she obviously had such a thing for pretty boys.

A short time into the second movie, she had winced as she tried and failed to stifle a huge yawn, sure that she was about to be sent off to bed followed by a trail of ramblings focused on humans and the ludicrous amounts of sleep they needed. Instead, the Time Lord had chuckled, shaking his head, pulled her against him and tucked his chin on top of her blonde locks. She had drowsily wrapped her arms around his waist and been lulled to sleep by the staggered rhythm of his twin heartbeats.

She had drifted to consciousness a while later and had been amused to discover that not even The Great and Mighty Oncoming Storm could outlast the full extended edition of Lord of the Rings. For a few moments she had watched the light from the screen flicker across his sleeping features, then laid her head back against his chest as sleep reclaimed her. Her own heart had beat double when she had shifted to find a more comfortable position and his arms had tightened around her, preventing her from moving away from him.

When she had next opened her eyes, she had been in her own bed, but she could still smell the scent of his skin on her clothes (which she resolved immediately not to wash, again, ever). After showering and changing, she had nearly skipped down to the console room, the few scraps of dignity she clung to the only thing that restrained her. (That and the multi-lingual 'no running, skipping or rough housing in the corridors' signs posted every few meters—she had to wonder, had it really been enough of a problem at some point to require the posting of signs?)

When she'd bounced through the doorway into the blue-washed room, Mickey had been lounging against the railing, a steaming mug of tea in each hand.

"How'd the marathon go?" he'd asked, handing her one.

"Fell asleep," she'd admitted, taking a quick sip of the scalding liquid to cover up her irrepressible grin.

"Bloody humans," The Doctor had grumbled as he crawled out from under an access panel, "All that sleeping…can't even make it through a decent movie marathon…"

"Oi! You fell asleep too! I saw you," She'd shot back.

"How could you have?" He'd raised a questioning eyebrow. "You were asleep. Said so yourself." He had grinned triumphantly, flopping down in the captain's chair and reaching for Rose's cup. All her attempts to argue her case, or regain her tea were thwarted, but even that couldn't puncture her buoyant mood.

The three of them had spent the morning lazing around the console room, joking and reminiscing—well, she and The Doctor joked and reminisced, and Mickey tried valiantly, but fruitlessly to join in, or failing that, steer the conversation topics he could contribute to.

And then, in the midst of their laughter and gee, as the poem said, they'd fallen out of the Vortex.

She wrapped her arms around her in an attempt to ward off the chilly air as she stalked past building and shops that she barely didn't quite recognize. She understood that The Doctor was worried about his ship. After having had a rather close connection with the TARDIS her self on one notable occasion, Rose was concerned, too. But she didn't see how treating her like a petulant child was going to fix things.

Rose plopped down on a picnic bench and glared out at the water. Of  _course_  she knew that this wasn't her world. Exactly how thick did he think she was?

 _Wait…no, probably don't want the answer to that_ , she thought, shoving her hands deep into her coat pockets.

She knew this Pete wasn't her dad. She really did. Her eyebrows pulled together in consternation as she stared out at the choppy grey surf. She just wanted to... She wanted to maybe see what he might have been like. She knew better than to try to talk to him. After all, it wouldn't do to have a girl who probably looked just like his own daughter walk up to him and ask the time. But what could it hurt to just see him in passing, maybe…just across a street…see what he turned out like? See what kind of dad this world's Rose got to grow up with?

But no, Mr. High and Mighty Lord of Time and Space acts like she's going to waltz out into this world and invade her not-family's life, or create a bloody paradox—seriously! That happened  _once_! She'd pretty much learned her lesson on that count. It's infuriating. Half the time…well…more like a third or a quarter of the time…but occasionally, at least, he gives her…well, a bit more credit than she thinks is her due—throws her into a complicated situation and gives her an, 'I know you can do it' grin before taking off in the opposite direction and leaving her to extricate herself. And then other times, he treats her like she doesn't know which side of a time vortex is up, like she's just 'another stupid ape'.

And what's really unfair, he hardly says two words to Mickey! It's all, "Rose, he's not your da,' 'Rose this isn't your world,' 'Rose don't get into trouble,' 'Rose, please try not to break the universe.' What does he tell Mickey? Practically nothing. Bloody Boys' Club. And who on this trip was most likely to make some monumental blunder that would have them running for their lives before lunchtime? Well…probably The Doctor. And between the two humans along for this wacky fun vacation? Right, probably not the girl who has been to the end of the world, stood up to the crazy emperor of the Daleks, and spectated the London Blitz by barrage balloon.

She jumped when her phone started beeping in her pocket.

Pulling it out she squinted at the screen. Free trial? She hadn't been able to get a signal all day…despite whatever gizmos The Doctor had hooked up to her phone, they didn't seem to pack quite enough punch to push through to another universe.

She looked at the screen speculatively. She always felt a bit hedgy about 'free' trials—Jackie was rarely able to resist their allure, a fact that had forced Rose to put in overtime at the shop a time or two when free turned into automatic service charges and required activation fees—but, with any luck, they'd be back where they belonged before this bill came due…and if not, well…she could always look into alternate service providers tomorrow, if no one was trying to kill them.

Absently, she began scanning through the options her screen was displaying. People search, huh?  _That_  certainly wasn't something that came with her old service. She thought for a moment, then entered 'Peter Tyler' into the search field.


	4. Chapter 4

_He was slipping_.

He pointedly ignored the words his mind hurled at him as he gathered Rose gratefully in his arms, feeling like his head was clear for the first time in…well, he wasn't quite sure.

The irony wasn't lost on him that time itself had it's meaning from the moment he'd seen her escorted into the underground holding room. When he'd glimpsed that frilly pink skirt fluttering underneath the musty blanket they had draped over her head, everything had…stopped. He'd struggled with himself, insisting over the screaming in his head that any girl could be wearing those little pink shoes, that he didn't know the smooth line of her ankle, the very texture of her skin by heart, that he couldn't sense her presence the moment she walked into a room.

Then they'd lifted the dark material away, and the conversation around him had faded to static, the screaming within escalating into a violent, ragged shriek that clawed through his mind. He'd just looked at her, trying to drag himself out of the cacophony inside his head that was yelling her name over and over, trying to shove it down inside where he could leave it until  _after_  he had come up with a plan and saved everyone, when he was alone in his room and had the luxury of giving in to choked breaths and pounding hearts and how she'd stood in front of him, so blank and unaware and he'd been so afraid…

Then something the men behind him were saying had penetrated, and everything inside him had shut up.

"They did what?" He hadn't turned around, just focused on Rose, just focused on keeping the tremor of anger out of his voice.

"I'm sorry?"

" _They left her where_?"

"Just…in the street."

Something in him had switched off then. Someone had done this to Rose, his beautiful Rose, who was so good and sweet, and then they had left her, vulnerable and alone—no. All the doubts and rules and niceties and fairness had sloughed away, everything that insisted day after day that she was just a companion and that danger was part of the job description, everything that told him he was here to save this straggly group of people—the world had narrowed down to one thing—someone had hurt Rose. Someone was going to pay for hurting Rose. If saving a few random humans happened to be a side effect of saving her, fine. And if it wasn't—they could go rot. Rose was in trouble.

The next…hours? Days? Years? Surely not years…there was no way that was right… Well, it had all been a bit of a blur. He just knew that how ever long it was, he'd been stomach-twistingly frantic and icily furious and more than willing to rip the earth itself apart if that would have saved her, and hadn't felt anything else until he had seen her smiling beatifically at him from down the street.

Firmly ensconcing the irritating whispers of his conscience in an ignored corner of his mind, he wrapped his arms more tightly around her and inhaled the scent of her skin, her hair, feeling calm spread through him in lazy ripples before he reluctantly released her.

Enfolding her hand in his, he led her down the street to join in the coronation festivities.

Friends cared about friends—it was only natural. And when they were lost, they tried to find them. And when they were in danger, they worried about them. And when they were safe again, they hugged them. And held their hands. And found excuses to touch them, just to convince themselves that they were okay. It was no more than that.

After cake and orange-aide, and sparklers at twilight, after Rose finally pled exhaustion and they returned to the gentle hum of the TARDIS, The Doctor wandered around the dim blueness of the empty console room, poking at the occasional button or lever.

 _Slipping_.

He laced his fingers behind his neck and exhaled a frustrated breath as he stared, unseeing, at the coppery ceiling. He wandered around the control panel, fiddling with various switches, making unnecessary adjustments to the ship's trajectory.

_Slipping._

He wasn't sure as to what had upset him so much about what The Wire had done to Rose. She had been in worse danger before and—his fingers twitched in guilt and unease—surely would be again. The experience hadn't even seemed to give her a moment's pause—water under the bridge, soup off a duck's back, a Zentlack in a desert, and so on.

It had just seemed like…such a…a… _violation_. The Wire had ripped away a part of her, and then some miserable bastard—one of the humans that she spent half of her time  _protecting_ —had dumped her out on the street,  _alone_ , to fend for herself.

_Are you sure it isn't just because someone dared to touch your girlfriend?_

Well…that thought also had—wait! No!

He leaned back against the railing and glared balefully at the control panel. Glowing lights and flashing buttons stared impassively back.

Maybe a little.

_Slipping. Slipping. Slipping._

"Shut up!" Startled by the sound of his own voice The Doctor glanced around quickly to make sure that he was still the room's sole occupant. Somehow, he didn't think it would go over well if Rose stumbled upon him having an argument with his own mind. It wasn't like it was weird or anything. Weeellll…not  _that_  weird. It was just that he was the person that he had known the longest, not to mention someone he had interests in common with, was of a comparable intellect to, and got along fairly well with. Most of the time. Humans didn't always see it that way, however. He was fairly certain that Rose's reaction would involve soothing tones and no sudden movements, then slowly backing away.

Either that, or she'd be amused and want to know what the disagreement was all about, and then he'd have to think of something to tell her that didn't involve fighting with himself over his feelings for her.

Feelings that, he admitted despairingly, were not staying quite as tethered and controlled as he had been struggling to keep them.

Well, he'd just have to do better. Easy-peasy.

He cued the TARDIS to alert Rose that they would be landing soon, and, spotting a burnt out fuse, clambered under the control panel to replace it while he was waiting.

He would have to dial down the casual touching a bit, for sure. Stop taking any flimsy excuse he could find to wrap his arms around her, or hold her hand.

He just had to stop acting like a love-struck school-boy and show a little discipline. Surely it couldn't be that difficult. He was a bloody Time Lord.

Right. Because that had been working so well up until now.

After…Rennet, after that whole dreadful, painful experience, the image of Rose's tearstained face had haunted him. He had probably overcompensated a little, just a smidge, wanting so badly to remove every scrap and trace and memory of sorrow from her shining eyes.

After waking up on the sofa with her draped across him, luxuriating dreamily in the knowledge that it was exactly how he wanted to wake up every day for the rest of his life, the realization of how much he had been letting his guard slip had jolted him fully to consciousness like an icy bath. He had gently detangled himself from her embrace, carried her back to her room and tucked her into bed, but it had been all he could do not to crawl under the blankets with her and curl him self around her, wake her up with sleepy kisses.

And then, of course, choking on regret and feelings that he shouldn't be having, he had overcompensated to the opposite side of the spectrum and practically ignored her after they'd fallen out of the time vortex into the alternate London. He'd been so busy focusing on not getting too close, and trying to stifle his feelings, and at the same time trying to stifle the urge to lock her up safe inside the TARDIS where she couldn't get captured and potentially damaged by the villain of the hour, that he hadn't even recognized the  _real_ danger until it was almost too late. She'd handled the Cybermen almost without breaking a sweat.

Pete and Jackie Tyler had been a different story.

He'd sent her out into that world with a few flippant reminders that they weren't her real parents, and then chastised her when she tried to see them. If he'd just taken the time, paid attention for a  _millisecond_ , he would have realized instantly how much importance she was placing on them, but he was too busy making sure he looked too busy to care, too involved in his own egocentric problems. And after that world's Jackie had died, and Pete had rebuffed her, and then loosing Mickey on top of that…she'd been so distraught—he couldn't just leave her like that, especially considering how much of her heartache was kind of, somewhat his fault. So he'd taken her back to her mom's flat for a visit and played nice all day. He'd even acquiesced to staying for dinner. That Jackie cooked. And then, of course, he'd turned around and put her right back in mortal danger again, and even though she seemed to be bouncing back from it without a problem…well, he'd thought she could really use a break from the running and fighting—it wasn't that it would be a nice break for his own peace of mind or anything—so he had proposed a vacation—95 life threatening free, guaranteed.

He dropped his head down on the metal grating beneath him with a clanging thump. What was  _wrong_  with him? He was over 900 years old and relatively brilliant.  _Why_  was he acting like an emotionally retarded teenager?

He was attempting to extricate the fuse from beneath a tangle of wires when the clunk of Rose's shoes on the console platform alerted him to her presence.

"We there, then?"

He glanced up at her through the metalwork. "Yep—just arrived. Give me a minute…I just have to—" He broke off abruptly as he took in the exposed length of her legs. She was reclined against the railing, the poster child for youthful insolence in chunky sandals, a cropped dark denim skirt and a black halter top emblazoned with the Jolly Roger, her hair pulled into two messy braids. She shifted, brushing a few escaped strands behind her ears, and his brain suffered momentary oxygen starvation when his vantage point afforded him a glimpse of red lace the same color as her lipstick, high on her thigh.

He banged his head against the framework as he scrambled out from under the console.

She hurried forward, brushing his hair back and frowning at the slightly abraded skin on his forehead. "You alright?"

He grinned brightly in reassurance and quickly stepped back from the warmth of her fingers, before her proximity unraveled the remaining fibers of his control and he decided that the flash of crimson he had seen required an in-depth investigation.

She watched him for a moment more, then, when she was satisfied that he wasn't about to collapse from head-trauma related injuries, she smiled in excitedly. "Lets go then, yeah?" She leaned over to pick up a canvas tote bag, then turned and sauntered toward the door of the ship.

He blamed the view of her bare back, long legs and swaying hips for the words that tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them. "You aren't going out dressed like that!"

She turned, raising an eyebrow. "Why not? I thought you said it was going to be hot here. Tropical, even."

"Oh…um…well, it is, but…the thing is…"

Rose's forehead crinkled in worry. "It's a local custom thing, isn't it? Religious, even. Full-length robes in all seasons or some rot? You know I'm not the best with those—remember that time in the Brox colony, with the shrimp thing?" She shook her head. "This isn't good. I know I'll end up mucking it up, and there we'll be, in a dungeon again." She bit her lip, thinking, then sighed and let her shoulders droop in resignation. "Maybe we should go somewhere else. I don't want it to be my fault when we—sorry— _if we_  get picked up by the local constabulary."

He rolled his eyes. " _If_  we get picked up? I'm not going to fault you for the  _attempt_  at positive thinking, but—"

"I know. I shouldn't bother." She flipped a braid over her shoulder and started walking back towards the console. "We're sure to be stuck in the pokey or being chased by an angry mob within the hour." She flopped back against the railing and glanced sideways at him. "We braving it?"

He rolled his eyes. "I was  _going_  to say that your positive thinking skills could use some work. You should know, this is a very peaceful section of a very peaceful planet. Didn't I promise you a hazard-free vacation? Have you got no faith at all? …And side note—'the pokey'? New house rule. You—"he tapped the end of her nose lightly"—are not allowed to watch westerns anymore."

"Peaceful like Herminia 5 was? And  _is_ it a religious thing?"

He decided to ignore the first question (how was he supposed to keep track of every world war on every planet ever?) and did a quick mental calculation of the odds that Rose wouldn't notice that everyone else outside was dressed in deference to the balmy weather. Deciding that she was probably a bit too observant to pull that one over on her, he sighed. "No, they don't have a religious thing."

She looked at him speculatively, eyes narrowing. "Then what,  _exactly_ , is wrong with what I'm wearing?"

He scanned her outfit quickly, searching for a legitimate objection that would avoid addressing the fact that he was dubious about the continued operation of his brain's higher functions around this much of her bare skin, and that he was likely to do something rather stupid and male if he saw anyone else admiring said bare skin too intently. His eyes lit on her feet.

"Your shoes!"

She gave him a skeptical look. "My shoes? I'll have you know, these are the height of fashion in London right now…ish."

"Well…the thing is…if we do, by some obscure, itty-bitty, minor chance, find our selves running for our lives…those really aren't the best choice, you must admit. You could break an ankle trying to run in those."

She rolled her eyes as she pushed off the railing and sashayed back towards the door. "I'm trying to exercise positive thinking." She glanced over her bare shoulder at him. "Coming? 'Dad'?" She didn't wait for him to catch up, but strode ahead, muttering to herself. He wasn't able to catch all of it, but he was certain he heard bits that included 'puritanical aliens' 'old enough to dress myself' 'stupid bloody leather jacket' 'lame trench coat' and 'worse than my mum'.

At that he hurried to catch up and voice his protests. "Rose Tyler, that is the worst kind of slander, and I am deeply hurt that you would say such a thing, I want you to know. Answer me this—has Jackie Tyler every let you take on the king of the 42nd century French repressionists at table tennis?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer."

"And for the record, my leather jacket was not stupid," he pouted.

She glanced at him, lips twitching slightly as she fought to keep a severe expression on her face. "It was, a bit."

"No it wasn't! That jacket was brilliant!" He sniffed in indignation. "I looked cool in it."

She raised a questioning brow, struggling harder not to give in to his silliness. "Is that so?"

He glared ferociously at her. "You know I did. That jacket rocked."

At his final comment, Rose lost the fight. Five minutes later he was tapping his foot and impatiently as she leaned against a low wall catching her breath, the occasional snicker or giggle still tumbling out between gasps.

"Are you quite done?"

"Yeah…I think I…" her lips twitched upwards and another peal of laughter burst forth. "You—you said….snicker …you…snerk…you looked….hahahahaa!"

He rolled his eyes. "It wasn't that funny."

She made a visible effort at bringing herself under control and looked at him with wide-eyed sincerity. "You're completely right Doctor. Your jacket totally rock-snicker-it—"

The Doctor crossed his arms and settled in to wait for her amusement at his expense to run it's course, trying not to admit to himself how endearing her pink cheeks and sparkling eyes were.

She finally composed herself and wiped lightly at moisture under her eyes, in an effort to keep her make-up reasonably intact. "Sorry 'bout that. And maybe you looked a  _bit_  cool in the leather jacket," she conceded with an impish grin as she grabbed his hand and they started walking towards the town.

"I absolutely did."

"But you do admit that your trench coat is lame?"

"What? It most certainly is not! Have you seen the pockets in this thing?" He reached his hand into the left one and pulled out an ornate tiffany-style lamp. "No…not what I was looking for…" He rifled through the depths, jerking back as a muffled roar came from within the fabric. "…don't know why I put  _that_  in there…maybe the other pocket…" He paused in his searching to glance over at Rose. "It's not lame," He insisted.

She sighed in mock-resignation. "Oh, all right. All your clothes are amazingly, stunningly cool. In any century. On any planet."

"Wellllll….I wouldn't go that far. There were some choices that some of my earlier selves made that might have been a bit dodgy."

She smirked. "I know. I've seen the wardrobe, remember?"

He winced as he mentally catalogued the contents of the rows of and rows of racks and drawers. "I'll have you know—I have  _not_  worn that gorilla suit. Weeelllll—once. For a party. But everyone was wearing them. Or, at least, the invitation said they would be. And the parachute pants? They were a gag gift. Oh…and that hideous coat…"

"Sarah-Jane and I had a lot of time to talk once we got past our differences," she informed him with an arched eyebrow.

"Ohh. Well." He ran a hand through his rumpled hair, then looked at her with concern in his eyes. "But I really, honestly, haven't worn the parachute pants. I need you to believe me, Rose. I know I've made some fashion mistakes in my lives, but I need you to know, that is something I'd  _never_  do."

"Oh, who knows, Doctor—your next regeneration might pick them up first thing." She giggled at his horrified look.

"Never Rose. How I look, and how I act, and even my favorite foods and places may change—but I am still the same man. And that man would not wear parachute pants."

"I really hope so. I mean, could you live with the shame of a whole life spent in a pair of those?"

He shuddered. "That's it. I'm throwing them out as soon as we get back to the TARDIS."

She glanced sideways at him. "So what is it with the whole 'One outfit per regeneration' thing, anyway? Doesn't it get a bit dull?"

"Rose…dull isn't often a problem for me—between running away from people trying to dismember me and trying to find the answers to bizarre space-time anomalies, I don't often get all that bored. It seems simplest to find a look I like, and stick with it."

She contemplated his words for a moment, then tilted her head and placed a thoughtful finger against her lips as a wicked glint flickered into her eyes. "Can't say that you don't have somewhat of a point there."

"I always have a point," he answered warily.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh yes. Always." She grinned, tongue teasing out between her teeth. "You never ramble or tangent."

"An  _eventual_ point, Rose. I always have an eventual point."

She chuckled slightly. "Anyway, I think I might take a page from the book of the great and mighty Doctor."

"You're going to ramble? Or always have a point?"

She bumped his hip with hers playfully. "Silly. I think I'll find a look and stick with it. I mean, a bit mad to spend time worrying about what to wear every day when, like as not, we'll be running for our lives before lunch, and usually somewhere sooty, or muddy, or grimy, or a combination of the above. Like you said—plenty to keep life exciting without worrying about clothes too."

"Hmm."

"I think I like this look."

He should have seen it coming, but he still choked slightly and stumbled over is own feet as he looked at her temptingly scanty attire out of the corner of his eye and contemplated Rose dressed in her current get-up on a regular basis. Would he become immune to it over time, perhaps? No—most likely he'd just give in and ravish her right on top of the control console…at least five times a day. He pulled his hand out of hers and glanced down, on the pretext of searching for something in his pockets, hoping that she hadn't noticed his quickened breathing and pulse, or seen his eyes momentarily loose focus as the thought of divesting her of those naughty red knickers and… His gaze wandered back to her bare legs entirely of its own accord. He dragged it back up to her face with effort, taking in every frustratingly delectable inch of Rose in between.

She gave him an innocent look that was completely undermined by the mischievous smile playing around her lips.

He took a deep breath, and adopted a serious demeanor. "Rose—we discussed those shoes. Running away? That thing we do on most days that the sun…well, or suns…or local moon…or artificial visible spectrum generator…depending where we are…shines?"

She put a thoughtful finger to her lips. "Yeah. That's a good point." She paused and glanced down at herself. "But I can probably make this look work with a pair of Sketchers."

He shook his head. "Still not the best choice in chilly weather, though. And we do encounter that from time to time."

"Hmm…you're probably right, there."

"I am. Remember the frozen sea? And the snowstorm in Bangladesh?"

"So…I'm going to need a parka, yeah?" She laughed as she capered ahead of him. "And knee socks!" she shouted back over her shoulder.

He tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers and strolled after her. An observer might have discerned a hint of wistfulness in his smile as he watched her prance down the street, taking in the vivid colors and exotic sights with innocent delight—but then again, maybe not. He had a lot of practice hiding his feelings.

She turned and shouted back for him, breaking through his melancholy, and he hurried to her side, grinning as he caught up with her in front of a tea merchant's stand.

They spent remainder of the morning there, lounging on oversized pillows, sampling exotic blends paired with lacy cookies. The rest of the day was taken up with wandering the sprawling marketplace, haggling over wares and purchasing trinkets.

The Doctor smiled as he watched Rose  _ooh_ and  _ahh_  over a rack of flowing dresses. He really needn't have worried about her following through on her threat to traipse about the universe in a mini-skirt and a halter-top. The girl liked clothes far too much for that.

"Bloody…this is gorgeous!"

"Oh—Rose, not that one. Grell. That color doesn't exist on earth. Just in case, you know."

She pretended to pout for a second, then laughed and took an armful of dresses into the curtained-off changing area.

A few minutes later, she tapped The Doctor on the shoulder, startling him out of thoughts that, he assured his conscience, were most definitely not regarding what was happening behind the thin drape of fabric, or how easily a gust of wind could toss it aside, and were absolutely not anything to do with how much  _more_  easily a Time Lord could do the same.

"So Doctor…do I look…dangerous?" She tossed her head like a 1950's era silver-screen femme fatale, then grinned, tongue poking out between her teeth in the way that he found so very, obnoxiously adorable, and so very, obnoxiously tempting.

 _You have no idea…_  he thought, as the light breeze tugged at the silky, deep mauve fabric, the dress dangling from delicate straps, draping and caressing her curves, the hem fluttering, flashing enticing glimpses of knee and thigh. He licked suddenly dry lips and cleared his throat before answering. "Well…to be fair…I think the red lipstick might clash  _juuussst_  a little."

"Hmm….you think?" She tilted her head to the side, pretending to ponder, then laughed and stepped back behind the curtain. "You know, it's too bad," she called to him as she began changing back into her own clothes.

"Hmm," he responded, trying not to focus too intently on the soft rustle of fabric over skin.

She snorted in mild exasperation. "'What's too bad Rose? I'm deeply interested.' 'Well, Doctor—I had this plan. I figured that I could be a super hero, and change my name to Danger Girl—go about dressed in mauve costumes and right wrongs and the like.' 'But Rose, you already do an amazingly fantastic job of righting wrongs and saving worlds—better than me, even!' 'Oh Doctor, don't sell yourself short—you help too!' 'Why thank you—"

"Rose…I'm capable of holding up my end of the conversation, you know."

She stepped out from behind the curtain and hung the dresses she had tried on back on the rack. She arched an eyebrow at him. "Really? You could have fooled me," she teased.

"I can, Rose. Watch this. Or rather, listen to this. Well…a little of both, actually, since being a good conversational companion involves active listening and body language as well as just words—more in some places than others. The Delforians of Rux-12 communicate almost entirely through complex dances—as do honeybees on Earth, incidentally Which is actually to be expected, come to think of it…since honeybees evolved from the Delforians. Or was it the other way around? Of course, in some places, visual stimuli plays no part whatsoever in communication—for example, among the Mole People. They actually communicate through a combination of sonic vibration and smell. And then there's—"

"Oh, right—I remember now. It's not holding up your end of the conversation you have a problem with—it's  _not_  holding up  _all_ ends of the conversation." She hooked an arm through his and they stepped back out onto the street.

"Now there's no need to get snarky—weellll….I suppose I do a bit, don't I?"

She held her thumb and forefinger a few centimeters apart and glanced at him through her lashes. She grinned. "Just once in a…always."

"Hmm. Need to work on that. Alright…active listening. Rose, I would love to hear more about this 'Danger Girl' character."

"Ah yes, Danger Girl. I hear she's all the rage these days. Going about, fixing things and helping spread harmony throughout the universe."

"With a name like Danger Girl, I'd expect her to spread more chaos than peace."

"You would think so, wouldn't you. But, well, you'd be wrong. She's helpful and charming and agreeable—"

The Doctor snorted in disbelief. "That doesn't sound a bit like you, Rose."

"Actually, mysteriously, it sounds exactly like me." She gave the Doctor a light shove in the shoulder at the derisive sound he made. "…an amazing coincidence, if I do say so."

"Not such a coincidence, if you're the same person."

"Oi, Doctor—don't you know the rules? Can't talk about my secret identity now, can I?"

"Hmm. Right. Forgot about that part." He thought for a moment. "Would Danger Girl have a sidekick?"

She placed a finger against her smiling lips in contemplation. "Maybe."

"And the sidekick would get to know about her secret identity, right?"

"Well…once she was sure that said sidekick wasn't really a double agent who was going to betray her to super villains and the media."

"And would she wear spandex?"

Rose wrinkled her nose. "Ooh. I think that's a no."

"Oh, too bad…what about her sidekick?"

Rose grinned widely, the pink tip of her tongue taunting him. "Well…I think that would depend on the sidekick." Her gaze traveled over his lean body appraisingly. "If it were…for example…my mum—I think spandex might be out."

"Good call. I can stand behind a superhero like this. So, is Jackie close with this Danger Girl?

"Sneaky Doctor—very sneaky. But you will not uncover Danger Girl's true identity that easily."

"Oh, that's not it at all…I just…well, if Jackie were to, say, turn down the job…I've always fancied the idea of being a superhero sidekick. Particularly if I got to be a sidekick with a cape. And I was thinking, if Jackie knew how to contact Danger Girl, well, I could be getting tied up by villains and awaiting her clever rescue in no time."

"If you got the job, of course. I hear superheroes are very picky."

"I am prime sidekick material, I'll have you know, Rose Tyler! And I look fantastic in a cape."

"Are you now? What are your qualifications?"

"Oh…sorry. For superhero ears only, I'm afraid."

"Well, I am kind of her…personal assistant, you might say. I'm very qualified to interview prospective sidekicks."

"Hmmm…I suppose that's all right then. Well…first of all, I buy the personal assistants of superheroes lunch, if they are interested."

"You have the job."

"Brilliant! I have achieved my life-long ambition! Or, rather my…oh…half-hour long ambition, but none the less…a goal is a goal."

"So, you were going to buy me lunch?"

"Wellllll….I didn't say  _when_  I was going to buy it. Or even if  _you_  were the assistant I would buy it for-ow OWW! I'm sorry! I'm kidding! If you grab us a table at that café we passed on the corner, I'll meet you back there in a few. I saw some fuses that might work for the TARDIS, and those always come in handy—so I'm going to run and grab those right quick, and I'll be back before the condensation has a chance to settle on your glass."

"You know that making a promise like that is just asking for trouble," Rose replied, smiling.

He frowned. "You do make a good point. Glad I didn't actually say that I promised. That could only compound the severity of my blunder. Which—I hope you know—has no scientific basis, whatsoever."

Rose rolled her eyes. "See you in a minute. Either that or from one side or the other of a cell door in a few hours."

"Peaceful planet, Rose! I'll be right back." He turned after a few steps and walked backwards. "Peaceful planet!" he called back.

"Right! Heard that before!"

He waited until Rose had stepped into the seating area and out of his line of site before doubling back to the stall they had left a few minutes before. He thumbed through two racks of multi-hued garments before he heard a throat clear behind him. He turned around to see the short, grey-skinned proprietor calmly holding up the mauve dress.

"I assume you are looking for this?"

"Well...I..." He scratched self-consciously at the back of his neck. "Yeah. I was."

"I thought you might be back." The man nodded to himself and pushed his round, wire-rimmed spectacles further up on his beaky nose, then quickly rang up the purchase and neatly folded the dress before tucking it inside a shiny satchel. "Indestructible," he said with a wink, poking at the silvery bag. He handed it to the Doctor, who smiled bemused thanks, tucked it into his left pocket and turned to step back onto the street. He winced when a muffled roar issued from the pocket he had deposited the bag in. He glanced back at the proprietor. The grey man gave him an enigmatic smile. "Indestructible," he repeated.

Rose was still at the table when the Doctor returned, which he did, a few minutes later. Neither of them ended up in the pokey. No one tried to kill them, maim them, torture them, poke them with uncooked pasta, or drag either of them off to be their barbarian bride, aside from one overzealous seven-year-old girl who followed the Doctor around like a Cocker Spaniel for three hours on the second day of their stay. It really was a very peaceful planet, with a high dependence on the tourist market. By the end of two days, they were both bored out of their minds.

"So, where to now?" Rose asked, lounging against her favorite piece of railing in the console room.

"I say we go further than we've ever—oh. Wait. We've already been to New Earth."

"Didn't really get to take in the sights last time though, did we?"

The Doctor tilted his head back, thinking. "That's true. We  _could_  do that."

"…or…"

"Or…we could…" a beep from the console drew his attention. He poked at a few buttons, then slipped on his glasses and squinted at the monitor display in front of him. "…or…we could go _there_."

Rose leaned over his shoulder and puzzled over the swirls and dashes undulating across the screen. "All right then—what's there?"

He shivered imperceptibly as her breath tickled his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth of her bare arm, pressed against his, then he pulled away and turned to face her. "I have no idea."

Her brows drew together as she pretended to mull over the news. "Hmm. Could be anything, yeah?" She looked up at him for confirmation, the gleeful twinkle in her eyes making a liar of her sober expression.

"Yeah…well, no. Not  _anything_. Not, for example, earth. Or New Earth. Or…Roxwagum. Well, probably not. I mean, spaciel shifts, solar winds…perhaps if there was a ripple in…" he turned back to the console and tapped in some data, then frowned at the monitor display. "Hmm…that's not it…" he spun back to face Rose, grinning exuberantly. "I have absolutely no idea!"

She matched his smile, excitement glowing in her eyes. "What do you say we go find out then?"


	5. Chapter 5

Rose's breath caught in her throat as she met Toby's gaze, fear slamming through her as his eyes glowed red and scribblings of ancient language distorted his features.

Someone's gotta be the Doctor, she thought, taking a moment to steady herself before she burst into action, yanking Toby's seatbelt free as she fired the bolt gun at the glass window in front of them.

She was mildly surprised when they didn't all die within seconds. Sometimes future technology was rather handy. Yeah…now we can wait, wow…maybe a whole minute to die…hmm…I think I've really been around the Doctor too long–even my own thoughts are getting more sarcastic. Ok…things to do…tone down the inner snarkyness, clean my room…oh wait–'get sucked into a huge, evil black hole and die' just moved to the top of the list… She closed her eyes and gripped the armrests as the ship stuttered, bracing herself for the enviable. Oh God…I hope it doesn't hurt too much…I wish I could have seen him, at least one more time…

I wish I were a billionaire, she thought as the Doctor's voice crackled through the cabin a moment later. I wish I had a bowl of chocolate ice cream right now, because if a girl ever needed some comfort food, this is really really the time. She waited expectantly, but when neither cash nor chocolaty goodness materialized, she shrugged. 'Spose one miracle a day will have to do.

It seemed to take eons for Rose to navigate the few corridors between the cabin and the hold. There was a brief flurry of chaos getting the unconscious Ida off the TARDIS and a rush of hurried goodbyes and then she was through the doors of the police box and his arms were around her, lifting her off the floor, he was laughing in relief and holding her so tight that she almost couldn't breathe, but she didn't care, because why would she need air when she had him back again, alive and safe, and not stuck somewhere in the middle of a planet that was currently being reduced to atoms by a collapsed star?

She sighed mentally when, all too soon, he pulled back to arm's length and set her gently away from him. She wrapped her arms around herself, leaned against the control consol in feigned nonchalance and felt that she did an admirable job keeping any hint of a quaver out of her voice when she finally ceased the through examination of her shoelaces and spoke. "I didn't want to leave–I tried to tell them you'd make it out, but they wouldn't listen, they made me go–but I tried to wait for you, I did–"

"I know. And I'm glad they did make you leave. That place was…a bit dodgy." He quirked an eyebrow her direction, eliciting a small tug at the corner of her mouth. "I'm glad they wanted to keep you safe." He continued brusquely before stepping a few feet back and focusing his attention on the multitude of snaps, catches, zippers and latches that were working valiantly to keep him surrounded in the hypo-allergenic non-penetrable anti-microbial temperature-stabilizing orangeness of the space suite. "Though I would have preferred that they didn't try to dump you in a black hole" he shot an ironic grin her direction "…well…on the other hand, that part was really my fault anyway…however, I did keep you all from actually falling in, so no harm, no foul, right?"

Giving herself a mental shake, she tucked her hands in her pockets, pushed the fear and desperation of the past few hours into the back of her mind, glanced sideways at him and forced a smile. "I think my mum may have something specifically about not loosing me in a black hole. You're going to be in trouble."

"I don't remember that rule! I must have been gone for that conversation."

"You were not! It was that night when mum tried to cook yams, and we watched that one sci-fi show on telly, and there were black holes, and mum said that if you even got me near a black hole–"

"Oh yes. All coming back now. Yes, she something about finding out just how my regeneration process worked, as many times as she needed to in order to gain proper scientific data. Which is ridiculous. Jackie Tyler wouldn't know science if it bit her on the–oww!" He glared at her. "Oh, come on! That's not an insult! She wouldn't!"

"She watches CSI. They have science on CSI."

"Weeellll…I guess they sort of have science on CSI. I mean, television science, which is not really much like real science–well, except on educational shows and the like, and even then, they tend to gloss over the tedious parts a bit, to get to the explosions faster. Mythbusters–now there's a brilliant show. They know just how to mix science and munitions. …But CSI isn't bad, all things considered. Bit messy. Always figured your mum more the type for 'Passions' or some rot. I knew a bloke once–nasty tempered bastard, Billy Idol wannabe…loved Passions.

Never did figure that one out."

"I think mum watches CSI 'cause she has a bit of a crush on one of the actors."

"That does make more sense. You know, I hear they might do a CSI Cardiff." He shot her a grin and finally located the buckle that would convince the suit to relinquish it's puffy orange hold on him.

She leaned against the railing and watched him slough his protective tangerine covering, heaving internal sigh of disappointment as nothing less than his familiar pinstripes were revealed the at conclusion of its removal. She snorted. "CSI Cardiff. Right."

"Anyway," he said, as he began fiddling with knobs and dials on the console, "the point is, you didn't fall into the black hole, and as Jackie has finally started to like me a bit more, there really isn't any reason to tell her that you were near one. It's not like I brought you there on purpose, just to spite her."

"You just don't want to get slapped again."

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Can you blame me?"

She bit her lip in mock-contemplation. "Well…once, back in high school, I was going through a rather rebellious phase, and, quite a bit mouthy…so there was this one day that I got up in mum's face and said all sorts of things that I shouldn't have, and I'll be the fist to admit I crossed a line, and well…" She paused. "Nope. Can't blame you."

"So, no telling your mum about you sort of almost getting sucked into an itty-bitty black hole then?"

His beseeching look was an unfair advantage, considering that he had the experience of centuries to fall back on when it came to puppy-dog eyes. Accepting defeat she grinned back teasingly. "I suppose. But if it happens again…"

His fingers clenched around the lever he was adjusting. "The one black hole experience was quite enough for me, thank you. Anyway," he continued, forcing brightness into his tone, "it wouldn't do at all to have repeats, now, would it? We really have to keep a bit of variety in our near-death experiences, or–who knows? I might have to start thinking about having multiple outfits!"

"Oh, anything but that."

"Not that I would actually start having multiple outfits, mind you. Just thinking about it."

"The situation would have to be truly dire before you'd succumb to a varied wardrobe, yeah?"

"Oh, absolutely."

"That reminds me, Doctor…"

"Hmm?"

"I think you're making me sarcastic. You're a bad influence."

"What? Oh…no, Rose. You're British. Born sarcastic, the lot of you. It's genetic. Or geographical. I'm not quite sure. Always planned to take some time to study it. If someone has English parents, and is born and raised in say, Spain, will they still be sarcastic? Or, if they are born in the center of London, and grow up in Brighton, but have an Austrian mother and a Brazilian father…will they grow up instinctively sarcastic? Sense of irony, too. Your lot has a corner on the irony market."

"Well, you're making me more sarcastic then. Is Time Lord sarcasm genetic or geographical?"

"Oh…actually, my people are rather stuffy and cold–don't have much use for sarcasm. I got this way hanging around too many Brits." He glanced back over his shoulder and winked at her, as he flipped the switch to activate the comm. circuit. "Zach? We'll be off now. Have a good trip home." He though for a second. "And the next time you get curious about something…Oh, what's the point? You'll just go blundering in." he shook his head and rolled his eyes at Rose. "The human race."

Ida's voice crackled through the speakers, sounding a little tired, but strong and sure despite her ordeal. "But…Doctor…what did you find down there? That creature…what was it?"

His tone was flippant when he answered her. "I don't know! Never did decipher that writing…But that's good! Day I know everything…might as well stop."

Rose watched him as he affected a lack of concern. Considering how close they had all come to dying, how many of them had died…well, the more something affected him, the less he showed. That was something that hadn't changed when he regenerated. If anything, it had become more pronounced.

"What do you think it was, really?" She noticed how he avoided her eyes when she asked him.

"I think…" he answered, pretending that the adjustments he was making to the dials on the console were vitally important, "…we beat it. That's good enough for me."

She hesitated for a second, her brow furrowing slightly . "It said I was gonna die in battle."

He finally met her eyes. He looked at her solemnly before speaking, for once forgoing his shield of enigmatic evasiveness and silly rambling. "Then it lied."

She smiled tremulously.

The he flipped a few final switches and the TARDIS began humming a warm-up sequence. "Right! Onwards and upwards–Ida! See you again, maybe!"

"I hope so," came quietly back over the comm system. Rose thought the fact that she didn't glare at the disembodied voice showed that she was growing as a person.

"And thanks, boys!" she shouted. She didn't do it to prove that she could be flirty with the people they met in their journeys, too, she assured herself. All in all…she really was glad that they had dragged her off that chunk of floating rock, even if it had been necessary to drug her. They had been trying to save her. And, in the end, she supposed they'd succeeded, to be fair. What if they had left her, and Doctor hadn't realized that she was still on the planet? Or…moon, or asteroid, or whatever it was. They were nice guys–even Toby hadn't been bad before he'd gone and gotten himself possessed. She shuddered slightly. She was going to put that on her list of things never to do, for sure. Oh, wait. Already been there, done that and got the bitchy trampoline T-shirt. Right.

Ida's voice poured softly into the TARDIS again. "Hang on though, Doctor…you never really said…you two–who are you?"

"Oh…" He looked at Rose, and his proud smile and twinkling eyes warmed her to her toes. "Stuff of legend." He pulled a lever and the Time Rotor began it's grinding, shrieking cycle.


	6. Chapter 6

The Doctor tapped at her door. "Rose, come on! Birth of a star.  _Birth of a star._  This really and truly doesn't happen every day, and doesn't last long."

Rose lifted the arm she had draped across her eyes, sat up and took a steadying breath before calling back through the door to him. "Oh—I'll just be a second! I…I can't find my shoe. I'll meet you out there!"

There was a moment's silence from the hallway. "Are you… Right then! Don't take too long. Believe me, Rose. You don't want to miss this. Once in a lifetime experience!"

She flopped back on the bed, fully aware that if she dallied too long he would come back looking for her and find her embarrassingly puffy-eyed and unkempt. Then he would try to cover his impatience to go see a star born while trying to give her universe's fastest therapy session, or would jump to the wrong conclusion and comfort her for something random and not worrying, or would look at her with confused concern, not sure why she was so upset by the latest round of nearly dying.

Or.. _wouldn't_  actually come looking for her at all...would get caught up in an amazing astronomical event and, when she wandered in later, composed and ready to face their next challenge, he'd look up and say, 'Oh,  _there_  you are, Rose. You missed it.'

Either way, it would fall somewhere along a continuum that reached from 'embarrassing' to 'devastating' and she wasn't particularly keen on experiencing any of those.

To be honest, she thought, as she rolled to the edge of the bed and reached underneath to locate her comfy ballet flats, she wasn't sure herself why she was so upset by the events on the sanctuary base. It wasn't like they hadn't been in worse situations before. Okay, it wasn't like they hadn't almost died before...and yes, they had cut it rather close this time around, but  _it wasn't_  the almost dying that had bothered her. It had seemed...more real this time, somehow...darker...malevolent. And not just at the end when the whole situation got properly  _terrifying_  and she thought she had lost The Doctor forever, and the Ood were trying to murder them and Toby was possessed. No, honestly, within a few minutes of stepping off the ship she had chills and was fighting not to jump at shadows. She had done her best to cover her disquiet with teasing and exploring and learning new things, but almost as soon as they were out of sight of the TARDIS she had wanted to suggest to The Doctor that they sit this one out, turn around and run back to the safe blue box.

Of course, she could do no such thing, she thought, as she checked her presentability in the mirror, and compensated for puffy, raw eyes with a dab of concealer and a splash of Visine. Start telling The Doctor that she wasn't up for a spot of trouble, and he'd start looking at her like she might be loosing her edge, her love of adventure...like it might be time to take her home.

He, who seemed less rattled by this latest scrape than by the prospect of a slap from her mum.

He, who had given her a perfunctory hug before going back to flipping leavers and turning dials, when she had just wanted to cling to him forever and kiss him and kiss him after thinking he was dead and that she was dead and that they ALL were dead...

She sighed, pulling on a soft, oversize sweater. It was time to face facts. Whatever his prior incarnation may have felt for her (and he  _had_...she was sure he had), this messy-haired, adorably freckled version just wanted a friend. A companion. Someone to share life or death adventures with and laugh with over tea and biscuits as they spun through galaxies, to have his back as he had hers. Not some crushing groupie that pranced around in miniskirts shooting him saucy looks and flirting all the time.

And that was...okay. Really.  _Really_. She loved him.  _Of course_  she did. She had no illusions there...but he took her traveling through  _time and space_ , seeing things she never would have seen, averting tragedies, exploring new worlds...Yes, she dreamed of having her youthful fantasies fulfilled, but if it was travel with him or nothing, well…Sarah Jane had been right all along. She'd rather spend what time she could with him as a sidekick, and treasure the memory in her twilight years than throw a fit and have him drop her off back home, or have him realize that she was getting improperly attached to him…and drop her off at home. Or decide that she didn't have the backbone handle the adventures without cowering in her room like a little girl…and—

Which he was actually quite likely to do if she didn't show her face in the console room shortly. Giving herself a final mental shake, she squared her shoulders and went to meet the Doctor.

Of course, he tested her resolve the moment she stepped into the console room, but wasn't that just his way? He pouted adorably at her (he  _must_  practice to get that perfect little crinkle between his eyes...might even have awards for it) as he grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the propped-open door of the TARDIS.

"Rose, did I not tell you specifically that the birth of a star DOESN'T last forever? You nearly missed it, and then where would you have been?"

She grinned at him as they plopped down in the doorway, dangling their legs into space. "Well, I would have said, 'Doctor...I'm so sorry I missed that star birth. I really did want to see it. As you have a ship that travels through time and space, do you think we could go find another one?'"

He beamed back at her. "Rose Tyler. You always have been too clever for my own good."

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the warm glow she got inside when he called her clever. "Hush now. It's starting."

He tilted his head at the luminescent gasses beginning to swirl around each other in the blackness. "Oh naahh. This is just...the opening credits, more or less. Give you a few splashy colors or a car chase...tells you who's starring - oh, look...there's carbon. Some silicone...and is that...ooh, xenon! Haven't seen that in one for a while..."

She snickered, alternating between watching the dancing dust and watching the doctor examine the particles, frowning slightly (oh that perfect crinkle) as he attempted to classify a speck or sparkle. "Doctor? There's something I've been wondering."

"Hmm?" He glanced sideways at her, mind clearly still spinning with the elements before him.

"Are there championship games in pouting? On some planet you've visited maybe? Does the 100-yard-mope get added as an event in the Olympics eventually?"

He frowned. "Not that I know of…but there are generally competitions for everything if you look hard enough."

"Yeah. Competitive eating. I mean, who would think up a thing like that?"

"That's actually one of the most wide-spread forms of challenge I've encountered. I mean, if you think about it,  _not_  everything's got legs, but everything needs to acquire energy somehow. Now ballroom dance, on the other hand. That's pure human. Though, at first glance, it almost directly imitates the ritualized battles of the Clovian nebula. Disturbing sight."

"Which?"

"Oh, ballroom dance. Terrifying." She smiled mischievously when she caught a glimpse of his inquiring glance in her peripheral vision, but kept her eyes unwaveringly on the star-birth outside. "Why do you ask?"

She tried to contain her grin, but was only successful in so far as she didn't actually let any giggles escape until after replying, "Oh, no reason."

"Were you thinking of trying out?"

"Me? Oh, no. Not  _me_." She giggled again. He turned towards her and opened his mouth, but she cut him off, pointing into the blackness. "Look, it's…doing something." Thoroughly distracted, the Doctor launched into an explanation of gravity and combustion points until they were both rendered speechless for a few endless minutes as the star burst into radiant life.

"…wow…that was…wow." Rose tried to come up with a more expansive commentary but found herself at a loss.

The Doctor smiled and leaned his shoulder against hers gazing at the new star. "That pretty much covers it. I've never been able to express it any better myself." She glanced up at him, skeptical, and he grinned back. "Believe it or not, there are a few things that even I don't have words sufficient for. " They sat in silence for a few more minutes before turned his head toward her again. "Tea?"

"Sounds lovely. I've got it." She hopped up and headed towards the door of the console room.

"Oh, and Rose?"

She paused and looked over her shoulder.

"It is a scientific fact that Time Lords do not pout. In case you were doing a survey or anything."

He smiled at the sound of her laugh lingering behind her retreating steps.


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh come on! Not NOW!" the Timelord's cry of dismay was followed almost immediately by a rattling, a  _ping_ , a unhealthy grinding sound, a slight shudder and finally a thumping jolt that could be felt through the floor grating. The interior suddenly seemed to be listing slightly, which was strange, as they were in space, which really had no up nor down.

Rose was perched cross legged on the questionable safety of the captain's chair, watching as he scurried around the power console poking and prodding and twisting and stroking and cranking, and also muttering and whispering and grumbling and pleading and sighing before he finally leaned against the console in defeat and shook his head. Then something occurred to him and he regained his momentum, spinning to face his companion with a manic grin.

"Guess what Rose!"

"The TARDIS is broken?"

"No! Well, yes...well...sort of...but that's not the good news."

"There's 'good news'? Oh, we're going to die, aren't we?"

"Rose, I thought we'd discussed your pessimistic attitude."

"Oh, right. Sorry. What exciting adventure in which we possibly won't be killed awaits us?"

"Rose, we're going to Myrth!"

"Mirth? Funny name."

The Doctor rolled his eyes, but couldn't stop the crinkles of amusement sneaking in at their corners. "You'd think they'd hear that joke a thousand times a day, but no. It doesn't translate. Even when you try to explain it. Some problem with underlying language structure. But but  _but_...it really is a rather fun place. Very fun.  _Mirthful_ , even." He winked and it was her turn to roll her eyes. "They have a street fair that goes on for three months of the year, and has the best jugglers and fire eaters that anyone has anywhere. And...incidentally, Myrth is the source of the very best plated calcide fiber in this entire sector of the galaxy...Rose, today you are going to experience a portion of Myrth culture that very few non-natives ever see." He winked. "Especially no non-natives who live to tell about it."

"Dangerous then?"

"Oh no, not really…Myrthians are really fairly congenial…just a bit private is all. They haven't done ritual sacrifice in…oh, not in centuries!"

"Ritual sacrifice?"

"Not in centuries, Rose!"

"And you are sure that we're going to arrive in the  _correct_ century?"

"You must learn to let things go. That's only happened a  _few_  times. And if we are still in the pre-Devonite mandate era, well…it will be very quickly apparent and we can return to the TARDIS before anyone sacrifices us."

Rose 'humph'ed in a tone that he was 90 percent sure meant 'you're making fun of me, but you'll be sorry when I get sacrificed to a primitive god.' or 'right, because that worked out so well before.' As if he would let anyone sacrifice her. He much preferred her alive, given the choice.

She seemed cheerfully resigned to the possibility of her future horrible death, however, as she shimmied off the captain's chair, asking the now-routine questions about dress code, and forgetting the slight shift to the ship's interior orientation. He covered the three steps between his spot at the console and the chair in more like one and a half, and caught her as she tripped. Then he had an armful of Rose. He was not displeased with the situation, and was calculating how to steer the TARDIS around her when she gave his ribs a quick squeeze and stepped carefully back, more prepared for the slight off-center feeling this time.

She smiled adorably bashfully at him, cheeks pink and hands out slightly to grab for a rail, should she unbalance again. "Sorry, Doctor...not used to the bottom of the TARDIS not staying put."

"Not your fault...it's the...well, basically, as you said, the bottom of the TARDIS isn't staying put." He launched into an explanation of the gravity generator and how the frayed fibers were shorting and sending incorrect information regarding where 'down' was.

She seemed to follow his technical exposition for a rather impressively long time, for a human at least, but finally her eyes started to glaze over and she cleared her throat. "So, dress code?"

"Oh, yes...right...standard adventure gear, I would think. Probably fine. Almost 100% sure on that. Well, almost 98% sure. Though, if you think about it, 98 is nearly 100, so, technically, my original statement stands."

Rose sighed, but she was still smiling. "I'll risk it. How long have I got?"

The Doctor tucked his hands in his pockets and looked up at the ceiling, running some quick vortex calculations in his head. "About...half an hour? That or three hours. Change fast and grab a book in case you have a wait."

Shaking her head and muttered something that he didn't catch all of, but certainly included ' _time lord' 'no sense of time_ ' and ' _buy him a bloody watch for Christmas_.' as she wandered out of the control room. He 'humphed', crossed his arms over his chest and lounged back against the railing surrounding the console. Did she not realize how hard it was to keep track of all the time in all the places he could potentially visit, and factor in the vibrations of the vortex as well? Humans. He let out a petulant sigh and poked at the grating with the toe of his trainer. Rose was...somehow different these past few days. He couldn't figure it out and it was making him rather cranky. He couldn't say she was  _colder_ , or  _distant_...exactly...he wanted to, but that wasn't it at all...she was just as warm and sweet and caring and funny as ever. They still talked and laughed together, touched each other causally, drank tea and ate biscuits in the kitchen in the middle of the night...but something was just...off. Different. It was driving him utterly crazy. He hunched his shoulders forward in a way that he assured himself was brooding, and did not bear any resemblance to pouting.

A watch might be quite dashing though, he thought, brightening. A pocket watch. He'd have to look into it.

The room stuttered slightly and he spun over to the control panel to make adjustments for landing, as Myrth sparked into view on the spacial coordinate console. He  _really_  hoped they were in the correct century.


	8. Chapter 8

The Doctor squinted at the monitor keyed to the outside world. He tapped it. Poked at the wires. Turned his head sideways.

Rose leaned over his shoulder to examine the less-than-illuminating display herself. "So? Think it's safe?"

He glared at the monitor, as if his ire would rotate the visual sensors to the other side of the ship. They remained stubbornly aimed at rather a lot of nothing but rock, very close up. "No way to tell. Had I known I was getting such a contrary ship, I would have stolen a different one!" A light flashed angrily on the console and there was a loud clank from somewhere in the vicinity of the library. The doctor pointed his finger superciliously at the time rotor. "You heard me! And you're only proving my point, now." He fiddled with his sonic screwdriver for a moment and then pointed it at the view screen. It had as much effect as any of his other endeavors had. Rose raised an eyebrow at him. He threw his hands up in acquiescence. "Fine…I suppose I should go check myself-"

"What? Now you get to have all the fun?" She shot him a cheeky grin. "Hang on while I grab my coat."

Forty-four seconds later they were stepping out of the blue doors into a perfect spring morning. Which, as anyone who has ever had an adventure knows, has absolutely no correlation whatsoever with whether or not you are about to be sacrificed. The Doctor looked around for clues and threw his hands up in disbelief. "Look at that, Rose! That is possibly the ONLY boulder on this side of the planet. It is clearly the only boulder within three miles. WHY would she park in the most inconvenient place she could-oh wait! No. Yes! This way, Rose!" And he was bounding back to the TARDIS, only to veer off and disappear around the side of the boulder.

When Rose reached his last known position, he was nowhere to be seen, but the shallow and easily traversable side of the large rock (very small hill?) gave her more than a small inkling. She scrambled to it's summit, and found her quarry, predictably, perched at the top.

"Lovely view, isn't it, Rose?"

He was standing a few feet ahead of and above her, with his hands tucked into his trouser pockets, the gentle breeze ruffling his messy hair and tugging at his coat as he stared off into the distance like a Byronic hero. She determinedly followed his gaze, rather than lingering on the way the soft daylight poured over his cheekbones and made the tips of his hair glow golden, and she had to agree. Gently rolling hills lead into tempestuous seas of rock and earth, and finally craggy, spiraling mountains, white tops engulfed in silver mist. The grasses were green and blue and lush, and the trees tall and majestic. A short distance away a small group of grazing animals were nibbling indolently at the local flora. Rose smiled and tilted her face into the wind. "Yeah."

He bounced over to her, wearing his familiar gleeful grin. "Do you know what makes this view  _particularly_  lovely?" He didn't wait for her to answer, but draped an arm over her shoulders and pointed to the far right of where she had been gazing, leaning his head close to hers. "Do you see that right there?"

This time he did wait for a response, and she leaned forward slightly in an attempt to properly distinguish what it was he wanted her to see. "Is that...a town?"

"Well..it does look like one from here, as all you can see is the corner of it, but that is the capital city of the western hemisphere of Myrth. That tall thing you see sticking up-" he gestured to a streak of gold partially obscured by a low rise and she nodded, "-is the Tower of Devon. It wasn't even built until the late 29th rotation, and not gilded until...ooohh...the beginning of the 33rd. Do you know what that means?"

"That we're in the right century?"

"Yes, Rose!" He lifted her feet off the ground with an exuberant hug. "We are in the right century! Or...you know...near enough. No sacrifice, anyway."

She giggled as he placed her back on her feet and began climbing back down the side of the boulder. "So, now we just have to worry about the other ways we are likely to die?"

"Attitude, Rose! Attitude!" trailed up to her from the grass below. Still laughing, she quickly followed after him.

About an hour later, they had made their meandering way to the outskirts of the capital, which Rose was still having trouble pronouncing. She was quite frustrated by the fact that she was able to master Raxacoricofallapatorius but couldn't get her brain or tongue or both to cooperate this time. The Doctor explained that Raxacoricofallapatorius was just a lot of syllables to string together...but syllables she already knew, where as this was a word made of of pieces her brain didn't quite know what to do with, and that even among earth dialects, there would likely be sound combinations that she would struggle with until she got used to them, and since this word also required fixing in one's head a particular feeling, well...it was bound to be challenging.

Rose remained frustrated, determined to _project the feel of a summer morning while saying 'c' and 'z' simultaneously followed by a sighing 'meee'._ The Doctor continued to look more and more amused at her efforts, which, as she became more irritated traveled farther from 'summer morning' towards 'blustery day when your socks are wet from a puddle'. He finally stopped her short of 'grimy ghetto alley at three in the morning where someone may get knifed soon' with the warning that she could actually offend someone speaking of the capital city that way. Which he called by name and pronounced perfectly.

Neither of them were able to focus on the language problem for long, however, as they had, miraculously, arrived not only in the correct sacrifice-free era, but also, during the quarter of the year in which the street fair was held and on a day with perfect clear skies. The Doctor bought some bright golden local fruit to cheer her up, and as she bit into the sweet, tangy flesh, she felt as though she might be able to hold a summer morning in her mind after all, but decided to let it go for the time being and enjoy the festival, rather than risk blackening her mood again on such a lovely morning.

The Doctor dragged her from one place to another like he was a six-year-old that had consumed a bag of jelly babies on his own, twining his fingers in hers and excitedly pointing out new things every few minutes. He pulled her over to a booth full musical instruments carved out of stone by carefully channeled streams, and just as she was leaning forward to examine an intricate flute, his palm was sliding against hers again and he was pulling her across the path to watch a man juggle...small birds, of all things. She was in the middle of trying to determine why the birds didn't simply fly or hop away when his index finger grazed the inside of her wrist and, suppressing a tingle, she ran after him to a table on which a truly incredible display of clockwork creatures capered and pranced. She sighed over a silver-blue animatron that resembled a frolicking pony that could have danced in the center of her palm with room to spare, but long fingers were lacing between hers again and he was bouncing on his toes and whispering in her ear, "Come on, Rose! Look what they have over there!" and she was running behind him with breathless laughter to the next booth or stall or performance.

By mid-day, she was exhausted. Amazingly, he seemed to be feeling the wear of the day as well, and they both sank gratefully onto a bench outside a refreshment stand and ordered cool drinks while they waited for the mid-day parade to reach them.

"Doctor, you'd tell me if you gave me drugged fruit, right?"

"Drugged fruit? Rose, I wouldn't give you drugged fruit!"

"I was irritated from trying to learn to say...well...you know...and you were just...you. And then you bought us fruit and I felt like sunshine inside and you started bouncing around the festival like my nephew the time he found his birthday cake unattended and tried to eat the whole thing."

"Oh. Well...they do have a fair amount more sugar than any fruit on earth, so that might not be far from accurate. Big helping of vitamin C, as well though. But generally harmless, sugar crash aside. Had them last time I was here and remember than being quite lovely. And whoever was traveling with me...was that Susan? No...couldn't have been Susan because she has non-earth physiology...Tegan maybe? Not Sarah Jane...well, no matter. She liked it. Acceptable human food."

 _Never matters which of us it is,_ does it, Rose thought crossly. "Just...always nice to know ahead of time when I'm going to take mind-altering substances," she said, trying to keep the stiffness out of her voice. "Or...risk diabetes."

The slight coolness in her tone drew a slightly concerned glance from the Doctor, and she sighed, letting go of her irritation, nudged him with her elbow and grinned. "Here, trade me. I want to try the pink one," she said, handing him her drink. He gave her a final, indecipherable look, but it was so brief that she really couldn't swear that it had been there at all as he leaned back against the wall next to her to watch the passing parade.

After the parade, and a bit of relaxing under the cloth awning while sipping chilled beverages, the Doctor and Rose resumed sight-seeing-though at a somewhat less frenzied pace than on their earlier foray. They paused by street buskers and stages, though Rose had to admit that, much like some of their consonants, their humor was largely lost on her. They wandered through artisan shops and booths draped in bright fabrics and and squatted next to cloths on the ground covered in everything from produce to jewelry to books. The Doctor pulled Rose away from a silk swathed tent, behind the curtain of which she had just caught a glimpse of bare sweaty skin, and she pulled him away from a small, toothy animal just before it snapped down on his fingers. Rose bartered for a gently chiming pair of wrist bangles set with semi-precious stones that the merchant assured her would bring good luck, and poked the Doctor in his ribs when he leaned over during her haggling and whispered in her ear that there really was no scientific basis to that claim, because he had checked. The Doctor found two ancient tomes that he couldn't live without, and purchased a lovely brass pocket watch from the booth with the clockwork animals.

"Maybe we'll actually arrive places near to when you plan it, eh?" Rose teased, bumping his bony hip with hers.

He puffed out an exasperated sigh as he attached the watch chain and looked for an appropriate pocket into which the watch would be ideally tucked. "Rose...you had  _the heart of the TARDIS_ inside you at one point. Surely you have some  _inkling_  of what navigating the vortex entails?"

She shrugged. "Not really...Most of the experience is pretty fuzzy...just an flash here or there...and I'm guessing the TARDIS did the complicated bits. I just...sort of...told her where we needed to go."

"Well," he glared at her as severely as he could manage, "It's not easy. And things move. The vortex for one. And places. And once in a while, time itself. Anyway...we got here just fine, didn't we? Now come on, we haven't even glanced down machinist's row, and there's a friend of mine always had a great line on calcide fiber, if I can hunt him down." He caught her hand and swung it back and forth between them as they meandered down a grassy side-avenue.

Rose tilted her head towards him, eyes twinkling. "You say 'friend'...Should I be prepared to run?"

He pulled out his glare to see if it would be any more effective the second time around, but Rose just giggled with her tongue poking between her teeth, then looked at him more soberly and raised an expectant eyebrow. "What?  _No_ , Rose...we aren't going to have to run. Probably. Almost definitely. I introduced him to his wife, and unless that went horribly wrong, that should put me on his good side, I think."

The marriage had, of course, gone horribly wrong. As a result, the man in question wasn't even on the planet, having left to pursue his lost love to the other side of the star system. However, his brother was on hand and held no ill will towards the Doctor; after all, with his older brother off planet for who knew how long, he had full ownership of the family business for the foreseeable future. He made arrangements to take the Doctor out and let him have his pick of the fibers he needed the following day, and then the two fell into the inevitable small-talk of old acquaintances while Rose idly perused the items being displayed on the tables nearby. She tried to keep half an ear on the conversation, but as the discussion moved from people she didn't know to local pest infestations she tuned the two men out and made a game of trying to identify the various parts being sold. It wasn't a great game as she really didn't know most of them, but she did see one piece that she was almost certain was for a vortex manipulator, and a pile of what she was absolutely sure were fuses, from how often the TARDIS blew them and the Doctor asked her to grab one from his stash. And that curvy thing right there looked like it really  _might_  fit into-

"What do you say, Rose?"

Rose looked up from her contemplation, startled. "Sorry, what was that, Doctor?"

"Drake here just offered to let us rest up and dine with his family if we want to stay for the night festival."

"Night festival?"

"Well, the street fair doesn't end when the sun goes down...after dark they light lanterns and sell sweets and juggle fire and have dancing...and tonight, I believe, the bonfire?" He looked at Drake for confirmation and Drake nodded. "We can put off our trip to Drake's hub until tomorrow afternoon. It would be a bit of a shame to miss the festival, since we are here - it's a unique cultural phenomenon...well...not  _unique_  exactly...but certainly a lot of fun, and if we don't have to go all the way back to the TARDIS to get ready, we will have plenty of time to regain our equilibrium before sunsets." He tucked his hands into his pockets of his long coat and grinned at her excitedly.

Drake nodded in encouragement, looking nearly as keen on their attendance as the Doctor was. "And I'm sure one of my sisters has something to wear that you can borrow. Veen is..." he tilted his head and perused Rose's figure, and she blushed under his scrutiny. "...about your size. Yes."

"Well..." Rose's gaze traveled between the two men. "Maybe...I suppose we could for an hour or so..." she finally took pity on the doctor as his lower lip began to protrude slightly. "I'm kidding. Yes of course I want to go. Lead on, Macduff!"

The Doctor hooked his arm through hers as they followed Drake through the festival. "You know," he leaned over to murmur in her ear, his warm breath ghosting over her neck, "That's a common misquote, and not really how the line goes at all."

Rose felt that rolling her eyes was all the response his nit-picking warranted, and ignored the tingle where his lips had almost touched her skin.

Drake's family were warm and solicitous, and welcomed the guests with quite literally open arms. The two off-worlders were, in short order, plied with cool beverages and a light meal before being sent off to rest: Rose in Drake's youngest sister Toma's room and the Doctor in the currently vacant room belonging to his absent friend. Their hosts similarly retired for early evening naps - apparently traditional during festival time- and Rose drifted into soft slumber to the sounds from the street below and the gentle breeze that carried them.

Veen woke Rose with a light hand on her shoulder as the sky outside was darkening from coral to lilac. Over the next hour, Rose found herself thinking that she almost felt like she was back in London dressing for a night out with Shareen, as she and the older two of Drake's sisters got ready for the night festival. There were scrambles over lost accessories, outfits discarded in a heap on the bed, girlish excitement and silliness and a pouting sibling, still too young to attend the festivities.

The dress Veen lent her was a little loose in the chest and snug across the hips, but overall, not bad. Final touches made, Rose was following the other girls out of the room (a pouting Toma sulking in their wake) when the Doctor intercepted Rose and spun her around.

"Well, well...Rose Tyler. If you don't just look ready for a Myrthian festival." He swept his gaze over her, grinning and she felt her cheeks turning pink in delight. Then he tilted his head, furrowing his brows slightly and gave her a more critical examination. "Actually..."

"What?"

He looked at her for a moment longer before shaking himself out of his thoughts and looking away casually "Oh it's...no, nothing."

"You sure?" She asked, mildly concerned.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck before dropping it to his side, looking briefly conflicted, then sighing. "Yeah. Nothing. Festival?"

"Festival," Rose confirmed, reaching to loop her arm through his. They took two steps before he glanced at her again and stopped.

Rose met his eyes, somewhat more worried now. "Is this one of those times when I really should be wearing my adventure clothes, absolutely especially including good running shoes? Who wants to kill us and which of us is to blame? Are we getting sacrificed?"

He looked at her in surprised mild exasperation. " _Rose_...it isn't  _always_  about someone trying to kill us! We  _do_  have days on which no one tries to kill us at all!"

"Then...imprisonment?" She poked her tongue between her teeth, grinning, as he glared.

"It's the dress, Rose."

"The dress?" She looked down at herself.

"It's not right for you. Color's wrong...fit isn't ideal...Rose, it simply won't do."

She couldn't hold in her incredulous laugh. "The dress? Seriously? Doctor...it's  _fine_. It's the one that fit me best, and unless you want to go all the way back to the TARDIS, it's the one I have. And it's blue. Blue is a perfectly fine color for me...but it won't matter when we miss the whole evening because you spent the entire time in this hallway, complaining about my outfit."

He rocked back on his heels, hands tucked in his pockets and let out a sighing puff of air. "If you insist. I mean...if you wouldn't rather..." he pulled a silvery package out of one of his pockets and extended it in her direction. "...wear this."

He spun her around by her shoulders and propelled her back towards Toma's room, and as she looked over her shoulder at him in puzzlement, he commented nonchalantly, apparently occupied with rearranging the contents of the pocket from which the bag had originated, "Blue's nice enough...but not really Danger Girl's color, you know?"


	9. Interlude

**   
**

"I don't know what's wrong with her," the Doctor mused as he stepped out of the re-materialized TARDIS. "She's sort of…queasy. Indigestion, like she didn't want to land."

Rose followed him through the door, sporting a jacket that she swore was the closest her closet had to anything mauve, though the Doctor continued to insist that it was actually magenta.

She watched as he stroked the door of his ship in concern, and looked up at him earnestly. "Oh, if you think there's going to be trouble…we could always go back inside and go somewhere else…" She managed to maintain her sober expression for about a second and a half after finishing the sentence, then they both burst into laughter at the absurdity of the idea. They hadn't met any challenge they couldn't handle yet. Well…nothing they couldn't handle at least well enough to still be around to tell about it.

Not to mention, after two days of relaxing, a spot of fun sounded just the thing. Rose really hoped that  _the Doctor_  would get dragged off as barbarian bride this time around, if it came to that. It _was_  his turn, after all.

He glanced at their cramped surroundings. "I think," he said, the undercurrent of excitement tangible in his voice, "that we've landed inside a cupboard! Here we go!" He gave the metal door in front of him a shove.

An automated voice echoed through the space around them as the door swung out with a pneumatic wheeze. "Open door 15."


End file.
